


Two Princes

by Scheherezade06



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Action/Adventure, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, Captain Duckling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Neverland, Princess Emma Swan, Romance, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scheherezade06/pseuds/Scheherezade06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the song. Captain Duckling AU: Princess Emma was raised by her birth parents, but a curse on her 16th birthday sends her to Neverland. There, she spends years running from the Lost Boys and Pan before meeting Captain Hook. Hook takes the Lost Girl into his protection, eventually helping her return to her realm, where King David rewards the pirate with a title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Princess Emma stood on her balcony, staring out over the sea. The sun was just rising on the horizon behind her, and the waves caught the light and tossed it into the air like so many glittering jewels. Early-rising birds flew in lazy circles in the damp morning air. A cool, salty breeze tugged at Emma’s long, blonde hair and thin silk robe, making her shiver.

Reluctantly, she went back into her room, shutting the doors to the balcony and moving closer to the fire. She warmed her hands, rubbing some feeling back into fingers stiff from holding the cold railing of the balcony. Slowly, her eyes drifted to the ornate gown draped over the chaise lounge.

The gown was lovely, all worked in silver and gold brocade, with flowing sleeves and a waterfall of silken skirts. The neckline was more daring than any gown she’d been allowed to wear before; it was wide and open, and would leave her shoulders and collarbones bare. There was a note pinned to the dress written in her mother’s hand: A birthday wish and a command (softly worded, but a command nonetheless) to wear the new gown down for breakfast.

With a sigh, Emma rang for her maid.

Today was Emma’s sixteenth birthday, and she would be paraded through the streets like a prize pig en route to market. That was a lie, though. There would be a ball in the evening, to celebrate her debut, but she wasn’t taking suitors tonight. She’d been engaged since before she could walk.

She liked Neal—Prince Neal—and she was almost sure she loved him (“Of course you do!” her mother always said). She knew she’d be happy with him, give him a son, and some day rule their parents’ kingdoms together. But part of her wanted  _more_. She couldn’t even define what it was that she desired—that she lacked. She’d lived a life of privilege and prosperity.

And yet…

Her red-haired maid arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits. Emma was grateful, because she knew she wouldn’t really be able to eat at breakfast. Breakfast was a show in the castle. Honored guests were brought in to have their meal with the royal family. King David liked to stay connected with the people of the kingdom, so every morning, he invited a few common folk to break bread and talk. This morning, she knew her presence was to be a special present for the brave hunter or hard-working farmer or clever spinster that her father had invited.

Emma lifted the teapot to pour herself a cup and was surprised and pleased when she found rich dark cocoa instead of tea. The smell of chocolate and cinnamon made her mouth water. She turned to thank her maid, and found the girl already grinning at her. The maid dipped into a deep curtsey.

"Happy birthday, your highness," she said. "Weren’t much else the staff could do for you, but we could manage this."

"It’s perfect, Gwen," Princess Emma said.  "Thank you."

"You are very welcome, ma’am," Gwen replied.

Emma lost herself in the cocoa and biscuits while Gwen busily worked around her. The serving girl brushed out her hair and plaited it into an intricate nest of smaller braids looping through larger ones. Gwen bathed Emma’s hands, face, and feet, and laid out the appropriate undergarments for the dress she would be wearing.

Gwen stripped Emma bare and anointed her with sweet-smelling oils before wrestling the princess into her corset. Stockings and petticoats followed, and then the gown. The metallic brocade made it heavy, and coupled with the cinching on her corset and the weight of her responsibilities, Emma felt trapped in her birthday attire. She examined herself in the mirror as Gwen fussed about her hair again, setting her tiara just so.

Emma didn’t think that she looked sixteen. She certainly didn’t feel sixteen. She felt older. But then, she’d been raised a princess, and her mother had told her that it meant growing up faster.

* * *

Breakfast was a nightmare. The king’s honored guests were a group of farmers who were trying some new method for harvesting grain. King David was obviously fascinated, and the queen feigned interest with every ounce of her seemingly endless grace and patience. Emma was bored half to tears. Beyond a quick bow and a mumbled “happy birthday, your royal highness,” the farmers had completely ignored her.

The teapot on her end of the table didn’t even have tea in it, just hot water. When she’d opened her mouth to say something, her mother had stopped her with a look, silently telling her that she knew Emma had already eaten and that no harm would come to that gown before the ball that night.

Emma dismissed herself from breakfast at the earliest possible second that she was allowed, swishing her way quickly and determinedly to the gardens. She thought defiantly about rolling around in the grass to ruin the damn dress, but she honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if her mother had had three of them made just in case.

But, gods, she longed to do something childish!

Instead, she sat on a bench, her back perfectly straight thanks to the boning of her corset. She couldn’t even slouch today!

"I wish…" she muttered to herself.

"What do you wish?" said a warm yet somehow mocking voice behind her. She turned around to find a beautiful, dark-haired woman standing on the cobblestones that wound their way between the sculpted shrubbery and flowers. She was dressed in dark colors; reds, purples, and black. The neckline of her gown plunged to the bottom of her breastbone. Her skirts were narrow, hugging her hips and thighs before fanning out dramatically to lap at the stones like a thousand tongues of purple flame. There were iridescent panels in the skirt there—or perhaps the hem was on fire, because colors danced and the fabric writhed with every swaying step the woman took toward the seated princess.

Emma was certain that she should know who the smirking woman was, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it.

"Who are you?" Emma asked.

"Today, you can think of me as your fairy godmother," she said, her smile widening. "What do you wish, Emma?"

Emma was confused, and she wanted to be cautious, but it had been so long since someone had asked her what she wanted. And the woman’s voice was strangely seductive, like the call of a siren.

"I wish I could have a childhood—just be girl, instead of princess of the realm," Emma sighed. Then she realized she sounded childish, so she hastily added, "just for a while."

"All you had to do was say so," the dark haired woman replied in her voice that sounded like honey and poison at the same time. "Your wish is my command."

The dark-haired woman opened her hand with a flourish, revealing a sparkling little bean.

"With this," she said, "you can go to a place where you can be ‘just a girl’ for as long as you like."

"Really?" Emma said, wide-eyed. "But, I can come back, too?"

"Of course," the woman said, her tone not quite as friendly. "Everything will be exactly as it was when you left. If you come back."

"If?" Emma echoed, cocking her head.  "You mean I have a choice?"

"Yes, my dear," replied the dark lady.  "Perhaps the place this bean takes you will be so…  _enchanting_  that you won’t want to return.”

"But I have to come back," Emma said with a frown.

"If you say so, my dear," the sorceress said in a slightly patronizing way.

"And… everyone here will be all right?" Emma asked, her brow furrowed.

"Of course! Like I said, nothing here will change," the witch replied. "Not a jot."

"Why are you doing this?" Emma questioned, still cautious.

"Let’s just say I owe your mother a favor," the woman said with a quirk of her lips.

"You know my mother?" Emma asked.

"Yes. She and I go way back," the stranger said.

Emma was thoughtful for a moment.

"How does it work?" Emma asked, gesturing to the bean.

"I’ll show you," the dark-haired woman said, suddenly wearing a manic smile. She threw the bean to the grown, creating a swirling vortex. Emma stared at the portal in shock. She didn’t hear the dark-haired woman approach her. The witch grabbed Emma by her shoulders and dragged her to the edge of the portal. Emma struggled, but the grip on her arms was too tight, and her confining clothing made it difficult to breathe, let alone fight back.

"Thinks lovely thoughts," Regina sneered as she threw the screaming princess into the rift.

* * *

Emma landed hard, the air knocked out of her. Her skirts had flown up around her face as she fell, and she flailed and floundered as she tried to free herself of them. The fabric caught her tiara, which was twined tightly in her braided hair. Emma yanked, ripping the cloth and dislodging the tiara, which took some of her hair with it when it shifted. She cried out in frustration and pain.

Once her skirts were righted, Emma looked around. She was sitting on an unfamiliar beach. Dark jungle loomed inland, and unforgiving seas stretched out endlessly in the other direction.

Emma pulled herself to her feet, her dress dragging in the muddy sand. Her heeled shoes sank worthlessly into the shifting ground. She tried to walk, but her ankle turned suddenly as her foot hit a shell or rock or crab or something, and she fell gracelessly back into the dirt.

"Well, aren’t you the queen of swans," called a cold, sardonic voice. Emma’s blood ran cold and she looked around frantically. She’d been alone a moment before, but now there was a boy on the beach with her. He was leaning casually against a large piece of driftwood, smirking down at her with obvious glee over her distress. He was dressed in shades of green and had his arms crossed over his chest.

"Who are you?" Emma exclaimed. "Where am I?"

"You’re in Neverland, little swan," he said mockingly. "And I’m Peter. Peter Pan."


	2. Chapter 2

“Look, boys, I caught a swan!” Peter called as he dragged Emma into the camp and threw her into the dirt in the middle of the gathering Lost Boys.  The gang of rag-wearing teenagers let out a series of whoops and crows in response.  One tall boy came forward and jabbed Emma roughly with the end of his makeshift club. 

“She doesn’t look like a swan to me,” he said gruffly.  “An ugly duckling, more like.”

“Trying to be clever, Felix?” Peter said to the tall boy.  “It’s not working.”

Felix frowned.

“Is that a... a crown?” came a higher pitched voice from the throng.  “Is she some kind of royal?”

“A princess swan!” Peter declared, stepping forward with his arms raised.  “Best, mind your manners, lads, or she might take a bite out of you.”

The boys laughed again.

Felix poked her with his club a second time.

“On your feet, _swan_ ,” he sneered.  “Let the boys have a look at you.” 

* * *

 None of the other Lost Boys were mature enough to look at her the way Felix did.  The others didn’t bother her more than to give her orders or occasionally throw rocks.  But Felix…  He was almost a man, and he saw the woman in Emma.  He came to her when she was alone, stalking her when she was sent to forage or clean dishes on her own in a stream.  Sometimes he just watched her.  Sometimes he taunted her.  Sometimes he got physical.

Pan had intervened the first three times, as if by coincidence.  He just happened to show up just as Felix had gotten a hold of her and was deciding how to proceed.  Pan never mentioned what Felix was doing.  He never gave any impression that he objected.  He just appeared and ordered Felix or Emma to do something somewhere else. 

On other occasions, Emma was able to fight Felix off.  She’d found a sharp piece of obsidian and kept it close.  Felix had been shocked the first time she used it, lashing out to slice a gash in his cheek.  He’d dropped her, eyes wide, and gave her a swift kick in the ribs before fleeing with his hand clutched to his face.  She assumed he wanted to make sure the wound wasn’t poisoned. 

Emma thought more than once about trying to coat the little makeshift dagger with Dreamshade, but she didn’t have a proper sheath for it and had cut her own skin far more often than she used it on Felix.  Emma didn’t want to accidentally poison herself, and she didn't like the idea of using poison because it seemed unfair.  So she stayed away from the deadly plant, hoping the weapon itself would be enough.

 And so two years passed.

Emma spend her days cleaning and mending and being ordered around by Pan and the Lost Boys.  On unlucky days, Felix or ghosts from her previous life would visit her:

>  Emma looked up suddenly to see her mother enter the clearing.  She called out to her and flung herself into her mother’s arms.  Snow recoiled at Emma’s touch, her face contorting in disgust. 
> 
> “Look at you,” Snow admonished.  “You’re filthy!”
> 
> “Mother, I—”
> 
> “Do you really think this is how a princess should behave?”  Snow lectured as she paced around Emma in a slow circle.  “Do you really think we’d want you back after you chose _this_ over us?”
> 
> “But, I didn’t choose this!”
> 
> “Didn’t you?” Snow said.  “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?  To be free of us?”
> 
> “No,” Emma sobbed.  “No, not like this.”
> 
> Emma cried messily for several minutes, but her mother made no further comment.  When she finally looked around, she was alone in the clearing.

“There you are,” Felix said.

Emma froze, eyes wide. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said cockily, sauntering towards her.  He knocked the firewood from her hands.  “Thought we could finally have a little fun.”

He leaned in close.  Too close.

“Just you and me.”

 

> Alone at the river where she washed the Lost Boys’ clothes, Emma jumped when she heard a rustling behind her.  She swung around, pulling out her little black blade. 
> 
> “Neal!” she exclaimed, dropping the weapon as tears sprang into her eyes.  “Is that really you?  How did you find me?”
> 
> “Of course it’s me,” he said easily, sauntering lazily toward her with a smile.  His eyes flicked down to her discarded dagger and he raised an eyebrow.  “Who were you expecting?”
> 
> “It doesn’t matter,” she said, reaching for him.  “You’re here, now.”
> 
> He folded her easily into his arms. 
> 
> “Hey, don’t cry,” he said, patting her back.  She clutched his shirt and breathed him in.
> 
> “How’d you get here?” she whispered.  “Did you come to rescue me?”
> 
> “Rescue you?” he said with a laugh.  “Why would I do that?”
> 
> She went stiff in his arms.
> 
> “But…” she started, confused.
> 
> “I came to say goodbye.”
> 
> She pulled back to look him in the eyes.  He was still smiling.
> 
> “Goodbye..?” she echoed.
> 
> “Well, you’ve been gone for a while, now, so your parents adopted me, which was really great of them.  So, I’m heir to both kingdoms, now.  And, I’ve got a new fiancé from this exotic, far away land.  Her name’s Tamara.  She’s…”
> 
> His eyes glazed over for a minute.
> 
> “Well, she’s very affectionate,” he finished slyly, winking and grinning at her.
> 
> Emma tried to pull away from him.
> 
> “Hey, don’t be like that,” he said.
> 
> “Just go,” she said, tearing free of his grasp.  “Go away.  Go to… Go to _her_.”
> 
> “Yeah, all right,” he said, still smiling.  “Nothing here to stay for.”
> 
> He strolled off into the jungle from which he’d come, whistling.

 Emma ran away from the Lost Boy camp on the night that Felix came to her in her bed.  It wasn’t a bed, really, but a lumpy mat woven from leaves and vines.  Her pillow was a wadded up mass of the petticoats of the dress she’d worn the morning of her birthday. 

Emma woke suddenly when Felix put his hand across her mouth.   She flailed her arms, but he caught them neatly with his other hand, leaning over her to pin her legs.  She struggled, so he covered her nose with his thumb, sneering at her.  She immediately went limp in fright, but he continued to suffocate her for ten more frantic heartbeats before uncovering her nose. 

He let go of her hands, silently daring her to make a move, but she held still.  She screwed her eyes shut as he groped her chest.  She counted seconds, waiting for him to give her an opening.  When he drew back far enough to move his hand to his belt, she took the opportunity to roll into him, surprising him and knocking him backwards.  Once she was above him, she grabbed his head in both hands and slammed it as hard as she could against the ground.  His eyes rolled up in his head and his body went slack. 

She scrambled to her feet and stood over his body, breathing heavily, waiting for him to get up, but he stayed down.  She quickly stripped his cloak from him, collected her meager possessions, and slipped away into the jungle.

She ran for three days, eating nothing and drinking only when she came across a stream.  She knew that Pan could find her anywhere on the island, but he’d grown bored of her.  She hoped he’d leave her be. 

She found a small cave on the morning of the fourth day.  The ground around the opening was rocky, so she could easily hide her tracks, and there was both water and fruit nearby.  It seemed almost too perfect, but Emma was exhausted and hungry.  She broke coconuts open against the rocks, losing the water.  She scraped the flesh out with her jagged, broken fingernails.

She lingered there for nearly two weeks before considering it a place to stay permanently.  Every day, she expected Felix, Pan, or a ghost from her old life to come taunt her, to drag her back to the Lost Boy camp, but none ever came. 

Slowly, she made the cave her home, gathering items from the surrounding jungle to make her little hole more comfortable.  She covered a low shelf of rock with shredded coconut husk and woven mats, making a bed.  She used multiple colors of mud to paint designs on the sloping walls. 

She’d learned many things from her time with the Lost Boys:  how to make a fire-starting bow, the basics of tracking, how to make a snare, how to weave a net.  She’d even learned how to clean and cook game. 

She would never forget the first time one of the Boys had thrown a freshly killed partridge at her feet, demanding she pluck it and gut it for him.  She’d become physically ill during the gutting process, which had made some of the Boys gleeful.  She was forced to dress every kind of edible creature available on the island before the Lost Boys tired of that game.  Now, in a way, she was grateful for their cruelty.  It made her more self-sufficient. 

Eventually, even the ghosts of her family stopped visiting Emma. 

She spent three more years on Neverland completely alone.

She grew stronger, her body transforming from the softly and curvy plumpness of a pampered princess to the lean muscle of a harrowed survivor.  Her face thinned out, her cheekbones becoming prominent.  Her hair grew long and wild. 

She learned the patterns of the Lost Boys, raiding their camps while they were away, stealing the supplies she could not forage or make herself:  candles, cloth, lamp oil, strips of tanned leather.  She never took more than an item or two at a time—never enough to draw suspicion. 

Sometimes these raids took her far from her little cave, and she spent days camping alone in the jungle.  Occasionally, she found Lost Boys where she hadn’t expected them, and her response was always to run.  She didn’t have any weapon good for fighting people, and Lost Boys weapons were far too deadly.

One day, her wanderings took her farther from her cave than she had ever gone before.  She broke through the jungle’s edge and found herself on a rocky strip of beach.  At first, she was stunned.  She stared, open-mouthed at the seemingly endless expanse of water.

_Ocean_ , her Neverland-addled brain supplied.  How could she have forgotten the ocean? 

She was at the water’s edge before she realized she’d moved.  She crouched down and touched the water, uncaring about the way her stolen cloak was getting soaked and salt-stained as the water lapped around her feet.  She thrust her fingers into the wet sand, feeling it shift and yield to her touch.  She closed her eyes and listened to the waves, smelled the ocean, and felt the salty breeze on her cheeks.  It felt like something from another lifetime. 

She was so lost in her memories that she didn’t hear his approach until it was too late.

“Bad form, coming out here alone, lad,” said a dark, dangerous voice, far too close to her. 


	3. Chapter 3

Emma reacted on instinct, bolting away from the sound without even looking to see who had spoken.  She heard his surprised exclamation, and then she heard his boots on the rocks behind her. 

“Coward!” he called, but ignored his exclamations and ran. 

She’d almost made it to the jungle’s edge when her heavy, wet cloak snagged on a large piece of driftwood.  She yanked on the fabric, trying to break free, but it wouldn’t give.  Frantically, she worked to untie the knot at her neck that held the garment, but she wasn’t fast enough.  Her still-unseen assailant barreled into her, knocking her to the ground.

“I’ve got you now, you sniveling little rat,” he sneered, roughly flipping her on to her back.  She struggled to reach for her little obsidian dagger as she finally got a look at her attacker.

It wasn’t a Lost Boy. 

He was an adult, which  meant one thing: _Pirate_. 

There was only one thing the Lost Boys feared, and that was pirates.  Her first two years on the island had led Emma to believe they were the only thing worse than Pan.

This pirate’s eyes were as blue as the sea on a clear day.  His hair was as black as her mother’s hair had been: black as coal, black as night.  The stubble on his chin marked him undeniably and an adult, as older than any of the children Pan had collected into his ragged band.  The pirate’s features were strikingly beautiful, even with his face contorted into a scowl.  But the scowl was melting before her eyes, replaced by confusion. 

“You’re not a Lost Boy,” he breathed, looking completely bewildered.

“No,” she huffed, using his moment of confusion to make her move.  She drew her knee up sharply, hitting him in the gut and making him grunt in surprise and pain.  She scrambled out of his grasp, leaping to her feet and diving toward the cover of the jungle.  

She’d forgotten about her tangled cloak, and she nearly strangled herself with it by moving so quickly.  She let out a choked gasp, and she yanked on the cloak again, throwing all her weight toward the jungle.  The fabric finally yielded, the hem loudly ripping to free her from the driftwood tether. 

“Wait!” the pirate called, but she paid him no mind, leaping between trees to try to lose him in the foliage. 

“Lass, wait,” he called, his voice urgent but no longer threatening.  Then she heard him swear under his breath.

She should have been able to outrun him easily, but her damn cloak was still causing problems, and he seemed exceptionally good at maneuvering through the undergrowth. 

“Lass, please!  I mean you no harm,” he pleaded.  His voice was closer.

“Go away, _pirate_!” she growled at him without looking back. 

“Lass, stop,” he said it in a gentle tone.  She felt his hand close on her shoulder as he said the words.  She shrugged off his touch, continuing to march forward.  He sighed behind her and then something smooth and cold caught her arm.  She stopped in surprise and looked to find a gleaming silver hook encircling her wrist.  The tip of the hook was sharp enough, she knew he could have buried it in her back as easily as he’d snagged her arm with it.  He could have killed her.

But he hadn’t.

That gave her pause.

“What do you want?” she demanded, spinning to face him and pulling her arm free of his hook. 

He was tall.  She hadn’t had to look that far up to see a face in a long time. 

He cocked an eyebrow at her fierce expression.

“Calm down, love,” he said cheekily.  “I won’t bite.”

“What do you want?” she repeated, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

He held his arms up as if in surrender, shifting his weight into a more casual stance.

“I want to know who the bloody hell you are,” he said.  “Pan doesn’t steal girls.”

“He didn’t steal me!” she hissed.  “I came through a—”

She stopped herself, eyes going wide.  He’d thrown her off her guard, and she needed to recover, fast.

“Through a portal,” he finished for her, nodding mostly to himself.  Then he cocked an eyebrow at her and he asked, “Magic bean?”

Her eyes darted to the side.  Maybe she could still make a run for it, if she could ditch her cloak.

He sighed again, as if he could read her mind.

“I truly mean you no harm, lass,” he said.

“You’re a _pirate_ ,” she countered.  “Pirates are liars and thieves.”

“And who taught you that, lass?" he said in  aslightly patronizing tone.  "The Lost Boys?”

“No, my _father_ taught me that,” she spat back.

“Oh?  What’s he like?” he asked as if he were honestly interested.

“He’s—why would I tell you?” she snapped, unsure as to why her first instinct was to talk to this stranger.  Perhaps she’d been alone too long.

“Try something new, darling," he drawled.  "It’s called ‘trust’.”

“Neverland is no place for trust,” she countered.

“Fair point, lass,” he conceded.  “Fair point.”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped.

 “What, lass?”

“ _Lass_.  I’m not.  Not anymore,” she said, feeling a bubbling of emotions she had to shove back down.  “I may still look like a child, but I’ve been on this island for more than five years.”

“Have you, now?” he said appraisingly.  “Well, _lass_ , I’ve been on this island for more than fifty years, so I will call you what I damn well please.”

“Is that any way to address a—” Emma barked before she could stop herself. 

“Address a what?  A lost girl?” he said teasingly.  “Girls on Neverland may be rare, love, but that doesn’t make you a bloody princess.”

Her mouth fell open in shock, and color rose in her cheeks. 

He rocked back on his heels as he read her as easily as if she were a page of a story book.

“Unless you _are_ a princess?” he mused, one eyebrow cocked as he stroked the scruff on his chin.

“I never said I was,” she said warily.

“You never said you weren’t, either, love,” he murmured.

She crossed her arms over her chest. 

“I’m not,” she pouted.

“Now who’s the liar, love?” he said with an amused smirk.

“Pirates are liars and cheats,” she said defiantly.  “Everyone knows that.”

 “Aye?" he said, narrowing his eyes.  "Then everyone knows that you should be sweet and demure, _princess_.”

“Not all princesses are like that!” Emma exclaimed.

“Neither are all pirates,” he countered.

She frowned in reply, looking chastised.

“Where is your kingdom, lass?” he asked.

Emma sighed.  What harm could it do to tell him that?  Neither one of them would ever leave Neverland.

“It’s in the Enchanted Forest,” she admitted.  “But they don’t want me.  That’s why they sent me here.”

He examined her for a moment before speaking.

“I highly doubt that, love,” he said softly. 

She said nothing but wrapped her arms tighter around herself, curling in on herself defensively.  It made him frown.

“Who told you that?” he asked gently.

“The shadow,” she said, shivering. 

“And you believed it?" he said incredulously.  "Gods, lass, the shadow’s entire purpose is to recruit new Lost Bo—Ones.”

“Why would it lie?” she challenged, looking him in the eye again.

“Why _wouldn’t_ it lie?” he countered.  “It would say anything to make you feel alone.”

He saw the tiniest glimmer of hope kindling in her eyes. 

“The shadow also said there is no way to leave Neverland,” she whispered.  “Did it lie about that, then?”

“Aye, lass.  It did,” he said.

She gaped at him for a moment.

“You know a way to leave Neverland?” she exclaimed. 

“I do,” he said, looking smug.

“Then why are you still here?” she asked with narrow-eyed suspicion.

“Two reasons,” he said, holding up a pair of fingers.  “First, leaving the island is no simple task.”

“And second?” she prompted.

“And second, I haven’t had reason to leave the island,” he said with a shrug.

“But it’s awful!” she gasped, aghast.

“It is a terrible place, aye, but excellent for making oneself stronger,” he said, his face hardening a little.

“What do you need to be stronger for?” she asked warily, noticing the touch of anger in his voice.

“That is my business, _princess_ ,” he mocked.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped petulantly.

The pirate cocked his head to the side and eyed Emma from head to toe.

“No ‘lass,’ no ‘princess’,” he said.  “What shall I call you, then, love?”

“Call me… Swan,” she said.

“Swan?” he echoed, surprised.

“It’s what the Lost Boys call me,” she said quietly, looking away, embarrassed.

“There’s a tale I’d like to hear,” he mused.

“That’s my business,” she shot back, meeting his eyes again.

“Fair enough, love,” he said in surrender.  “I’ll call you Swan, and you can call me what the Lost Boys do, too.”

He looked at her expectantly, raising an eyebrow.  Emma frowned, unsure how she was supposed to know what the Lost Boys called him.  Seeing her confusion, the pirate raised his left arm, turning it to make the attachment at the end of his limb catch the light. 

“Hook,” she breathed as his identity clicked in her mind.  “You’re Captain Hook.”

“You’ve heard of me, then,” he said with a wide smile.

She only frowned at him, chewing her lip.  She _had_ heard of him, from the Lost Boys, and nothing she’d heard had been good.

 “The Lost Boys have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker,” he said with a little sigh, as if frustrated.  My _name—_ ” He bowed neatly.  “—is Killian Jones.” 

Straightening again, he extended his right hand to her.  She frowned at it and stayed still.  He withdrew his hand after another minute and rolled his eyes.

“Right, then," he muttered with clear exasperation.  "Come along, Swan.”

He turned and marched away from her into the jungle.  She stared after him for a moment, her first instinct screaming for her to run.  But if she trusted him or not, he might turn out to be useful, especially if he wasn’t lying about knowing a way off the island.  She had to sprint after him when she finally made up her mind.

“Where are we going?” she asked when she caught up.

His lips twitched up at the word ‘we’ and her decision to follow him.  He wasn’t sure why that should make him happy.  He’s just met the girl.

“To my ship,” he drawled, letting his little smile turn into a smirk as he turned to look at her.

“You have a ship?  Of course you have a ship,” she said.

They trekked the rest of the way to the beach in silence.  They took a different path than when he’d chased her into the jungle, cutting across to a different part of the beach.  When they broke through the curtain of vegetation, the vessel came into view.  Its white sails were stark against the blazing colors of the setting Neverland sun. 

“Oh,” Emma breathed.  “It’s pretty.”

“Much more than pretty, lass.  She’s a marvel, my ship,” Hook said, grinning.  “The crew, on the other hand…”

“What’s wrong with your crew?” she asked as his grin faded to a grimace.

“There’s a fine lot, truly,” he said.  “But we’ve been on Neverland a long time, and female company has been in very short supply.”

“But I should trust _you_ to be a gentleman?” she said, frowning and narrowing her eyes.

He smiled at her use of the word ‘trust.’

“I’m always a gentleman,” he lilted, his eyes dancing.

She raised an eyebrow at that, and he grinned at her wickedly.

“I suppose you have a plan to keep them in line?” she asked dryly.

“Aye,” he said.  “They won’t touch a lady if they think she is with the captain.”

“Is with the captain…" Emma echoed, her brow furrowing.  She frowned.  "You mean..?”

Emma’s cheeks turned pink again.

He smiled broadly.

“But that’s just a ruse, right?” she insisted, the color draining from her face. 

From Felix to _this._  

“That is up to the lady,” he said, his smile fading at her reaction.

“Then it is definitely just a ruse,” she declared, giving him a frightened but determined look.

“If the lady insists,” he said, giving her another little bow.

He had to turn away from her to stop her from seeing the scowl that crossed his face.  Someone had hurt her, this wild, beautiful creature.  Someone had abused her, and it tore at his heart. 

“W-wait,” she stammered suddenly, coming to an abrupt halt in the rocky beach.

He took a breath to calm himself and turned to face her with a curious expression.

“I have things, back at my... home,” she said, eyes darting here and there, not looking at him.  “I need to get them before…  I can’t leave them behind.”

He cocked his head to the side, seeing through her easily. 

“Of course,” he said, pretending he didn’t know she was planning on running again.  “I’ll go with you.”

“No, no!” she protested, looking flustered.  “I’ll just be—It’s not far… You should go make ready.”

He bit back a smile.

“As you wish,” he said easily, taking a few steps toward the row boat lying upside down on the rocks.  “I trust you can find your way back here?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, clearly relieved.  She was so skittish. 

“Then I will see you soon,” he said almost absently, fussing with the boat.  “Be safe, Swan.”

She took a deep breath. 

“Thank you…  Hook,” she murmured.

She slipped back into the jungle without another glance. 


	4. Chapter 4

Killian followed her, of course.

She was stealthy, but he had decades of practice, and he kept his distance, sticking to the shadows.  He followed her to her little home and then watched her for another two days. 

She fascinated him. 

After more than half a decade on Neverland, he could still see little mannerisms that belied her royal upbringing. 

Like the way she poured tea.

It wasn’t really tea, of course.  But she had scrounged together a mismatched assortment of dishes and used it as though she were entertaining the queen.  He watched her fill the tarnished copper kettle and put it on the fire.  While the water heated, she scrubbed her hands and face.  When the kettle called (a breathy hiss instead of a sharp whistle; she’d clearly modified the spout to make it more quiet), she took it carefully and brought it to her little table.  She sat gracefully, her back straight, her arms poised.  She looked like her namesake (thought he was sure that wasn’t why the Lost Boys called her Swan). 

She arranged a wedge of lemon and some scavenged herbs in the bottom of her chipped little cup before neatly pouring the water over them and setting the cup aside to steep. 

It was the way she pulled her sleeve back that took his breath.  He’d seen a noble lady pour tea once, as a younger man, when his brother had been named captain.  There had been a ceremony and an honorary tea.  The pretty daughter of some lord had poured for Killian, and she had done it the exact same way, arraigning the cup, lifting the kettle, and then carefully holding her sleeve back with her other hand so as not to let the fabric fall into the cup.  Then, when the cup was full, she tilted the kettle back and gave it the tiniest bounce, freeing the droplet that was clinging to the spout.  She set the kettle back on the table gently and withdrew her hands together, keeping the flowing sleeve in place until her arm was no longer over the table.

The Swan girl, alone in a cave, poured her own tea exactly the same way.  She had no flowing sleeves to attend to, but she made the motions anyway, as if it were simply a natural part of the process of pouring tea. 

If he hadn’t seen her pouring tea, her cave would have been enough. 

He entered it while she was away, gone with her nets and hooks, clearly intent on doing some fishing.  He slipped into the cave silently, looking around as if he stood in an ornate abbey instead of a simple cave. 

The walls were covered in mud paintings, fresh in some places, flaking away in others.  Swan seemed to favor sunsets and sunrises as her subject, but that was possibly due to the fact that red and yellow mud was much easier to find than blues or greens. 

Dried and drying flowers hung from the ceiling, filling the little space with their sweet aroma.  Every horizontal surface in the cave was covered with intricately woven mats made of reeds, vines, and tall grass.  Flowers were threaded into some of those patterns as well. 

Her bed was made from what must have been a silk petticoat at some point.  It had since been stuffed with feathers and shredded coconut fibers and sewn shut with heavy, homespun thread. 

The cave was _feminine_.  It was homey.  It was lovely and tragic, definitely not a place where a girl should be alone.  And yet, it was clearly the home of a beautiful girl.

 If he hadn’t seen her cave, her eyes would have been enough.

He would never forget the way she’d looked at him when he’d had her on her back, when he’d first flipped her over to look at her face, before he even knew she was a girl.  Her grey-green eyes had been narrowed, but the pain had still been there:  Loss, betrayal, fear, anger, resignation, hopelessness.  And yet she’d still fought back.  With her back to the wall, with the odds against her, she would fight to her last breath.  That was indeed good form. 

He wanted to help her, to show her that she was more than a lost girl.  He wanted to watch this stubborn, frightened duckling become the Swan he saw in her in bits and flashes.

He’d known her for less than a week, but he was well and truly infatuated.

Bugger all.

* * *

Two days after running from Hook, Emma was back at her cave.  She was glad to have things back to normal, but her thoughts kept drifting to the blue-eyed man she’d met on the beach.  She’d thought more than once about going back, but she knew she’d already burned that bridge.  He had probably sailed away to another part of the island by now.  She’d probably never see him again.

Why did that make her sad?

She tried to put him out of her mind, but his eyes haunted her.  His smirk haunted her.  The damn soot he smudged around his eyes haunted her. 

And what if he’d been telling the truth about a way off the island?  But, no, that ship had (quite literally) sailed.  There was no use wishing and wondering. 

A week went by without incident.  She went fishing, set snares, wove nets, and otherwise occupied her time.  She didn’t stop thinking about the pirate she’d met, but she was able to put him to the back of her mind and focus on whatever task she was doing at the moment.

And then one morning, she awoke to the smell of tea— _real_ tea, not the drink she brewed to pretend.  At first, she thought she was dreaming, but then she rolled over to look and found the blue-eyed pirate sitting in her cave. 

She bolted upright, hitting her head against the rock above her bed.  She strangled her cry of pain as best she could, pressing her palms against the tender spot on the top of her skull.  To his credit, the pirate didn’t laugh, though his lips did quirk up momentarily. 

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Good morning to you, too, love,” he said good-naturedly.

She scowled at him, rubbing the lump that was forming on her scalp.  She took a deep breath and the scent of the brewing beverage made her mouth water. 

“Is that tea?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“Aye, and biscuits…" he said with a grin, then he gave a little shrug.  "Well, something similar to biscuits if you overlook the texture and the flavor.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that.  Then she realized she was smiling and wiped the expression off her face.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

“Followed you, lass,” he said simply, examining his hook.

“You followed a week-old trail?” she said skeptically.

He just looked up and smiled in response.

“You followed me that day!” she accused.

He gave a slight nod of his head in response, a small smirk on his lips.

“Have you been watching me _all week_?” she exclaimed, aghast.

“Of course not, Swan,” he said seriously.  “I had to go back to my ship for the tea.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“You… You’ve been—You could have—” she stammered, clearly frightened.

“But I _didn’t_ , Swan,” he said adamantly. “I could have hurt you—” She flinched at the words.  “—But I _didn’t_.”

She looked away, her brow furrowing. 

“Here," he murmured, "I’ve brought you a present as a show of good faith.”

He pulled a long, slender bundle slowly from the floor behind him.  He handed it up to her carefully, using both his hand and his hook to balance it.  She took it with curiosity and unwrapped it, revealing a thin, curved cutlass in a worn scabbard.

“Thank you,” she said, meeting his eyes for a moment before drawing the blade to check its balance.  Her father had taught her a little about swords when her mother had been away.  Snow had been adamant that Emma would never need to know how to fight.  Emma sighted down the blade, checking for nicks that would catch when she drew it through her target.  She found none.  The sword was old, the handle had clearly been replaced at some point, but it was very well-cared for and had recently been oiled. 

It was a delicate blade, made for someone smaller than the pirate who sat before her.

“Who did it belong to?” she asked quietly.

She watched the emotions flicker across his face before he turned away:  Pain, regret, longing.

“A boy I knew,” he said with a little sigh.  “A long time ago.”

“You cared for him,” she said, and he raised his head to meet her eyes.  He looked surprised as her conclusion.

“You could say that,” he mused, scratching his chin.  “But it’s yours, now.”

“Thank you,” she said again.

The tension in the little cave grew in their silence until it made Emma uncomfortable.  She shifted, looking around for something innocuous to say.  Her eyes landed on the little copper kettle.

“Don’t over-steep the tea,” she said casually.

“Aye, that would be a tragedy,” he replied.  He seemed just as eager as she was to change the subject.  

He filled her cup and then produced a little tin cup of his own and filled it as well.  He handed her cup to her, and she felt a little shiver go through her when his fingers brushed hers.  When their eyes met again, he looked as startled as she felt.

“To your good health,” he intoned shakily, raising his cup.

“To getting the hell off this island,” she replied, raising her cup and putting it to her lips. 

The taste of real tea—even bitter and over-steeped as it was—made her groan in pleasure.  She closed her eyes and inhaled the steam over the cup, sighing contentedly. 

She heard him sip from his own cup and then sputter. 

“Well, I buggered that up, didn’t I?” he said.  He sounded embarrassed.

“Best tea I’ve had in years,” Emma said, opening her eyes to smirk at him. 

“Only tea’s more like,” he muttered.

“It’s appreciated,” she said adamantly.  “Really, thank you.”

He inclined his head in response and offered her a “biscuit.”  It was really a piece of hard tack that had been coated with honey, but it was sweet and crumbly, which was as close to being a biscuit as anything she’d eaten in years.  Dipping the cake in the tea improved both.

They ate in silence, each stealing glances at the other, looking away when they made eye contact.  At one point, Emma realized that she was basically entertaining a man _in her bedchamber_ and choked on her biscuit.  She recovered quickly, shaking her head furiously when Hook raised his eyebrows to silently ask if she needed assistance. 

When all the tea was drunk and the biscuits eaten, Emma looked up to find Hook watching her intently as she licked the last bits of honey from her fingers.  Her cheeks went pink.  He looked away, and she watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.  He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.  When he began to speak, his voice cracked.

“Have you reconsidered my invitation, love?” he asked, his voice not quite casual.

“Was this a bribe, _captain_?” she said in a scandalized tone, but her eyes danced merrily.

“Did it work?” he teased back.

“What if it did?” she asked cautiously.

“I should be greatly pleased that you have accepted my company,” he said.

“It wasn’t _your_ company that worried me,” she said with a sigh.

“My crew?” he asked.  “They will not touch you.”

 She wrapped her arms around her knees, making herself smaller.  He frowned at the gesture.

“Who hurt you, Swan?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice.  It sent a chill down her spine.

“No one,” she said immediately.

“Was it Pan?” he demanded, the anger barely contained in his voice.

“No, Pan didn’t condone—” she snapped her mouth shut, looking away.

“Of course he didn’t _condone_ it,” Hook growled.  “But he let it happen.  He _knew_ it would happen and did nothing to stop it, the villainous coward.”

Emma watched as Hook seethed for a minute, his face contorted into something deadly and yet somehow still beautiful.  Why would he be this upset about Pan looking the other way about something?  Emma was pretty sure she didn’t know the whole story there.

“Who was it?” Hook demanded again.  His voice was barely a whisper, but full of rage.

“Felix,” she breathed, feeling compelled to give him the truth.

His knuckles went white.

“Then his days are numbered, boy or no,” he declared.

“He didn’t… He only—” she tried to lessen his fury by explaining, but she couldn’t make herself say the words. 

“Please stop,” he said quietly, his eyes shut tight.  He looked like he was shaking.

She stayed quiet for a few minutes, watching him calm down.

When he opened his eyes, finally, she was immediately pulled into their intense blue depths.

“I swear to you, Swan,” he said, his voice raw.  “So long as I draw breath, nothing like that will happen to you again.”

On one hand, his declaration was sweet.  On the other hand, it was patronizing.

“I can take care of myself,” she snapped.  “I fought Felix off every single time he—”

He was on his feet before she could finish the sentence.  She thought for a moment that he would strike her, but he stormed out of the cave, instead.

Did she want to follow him?  She wasn’t sure.  She’d been alone for so long…  Her heart told her to trust him, but she couldn’t afford to be wrong about him.  And yet, what choice did she have?  Stay in her cave, alone.  Or follow the pirate.

“Hook!” she called, leaping from her bed and launching herself out of the cave.  She stumbled, her bare feet slipping on the dusty stones.  Strong arms caught her before she could fall and pulled her into a loose embrace. 

Emma stared up into Hook’s eyes, her own wide with surprise.  He looked surprised, too, and amused.

“Careful, love,” he murmured, still holding her to his chest.

“Sorry,” Emma mumbled, blushing.

“You need never apologize for falling into my arms, Swan,” he said, smiling wickedly. 

She cocked an eyebrow at him and pulled out of his grasp.  He let her go without protest. 

“Shall we be off?” he asked, not quite managing to hide the eagerness in his voice.

“Why do we have to go to your ship?” she asked, still leery of the idea.

“It is far faster than—” he stopped mid-sentence and cocked his head, a smile slowly creeping across his face.  “Would you prefer to march through the jungle alone with me, Swan?”

“I’d rather limit how many _pirates_ I keep in my company,” she snapped.  “One is quite enough for me, thank you.”

“I’ll take that for assent, love,” he drawled, smirking.

She made a frustrated noise and stomped back into the cave.  She rummaged through the items she’d pilfered from the Lost Boys over the years until she found a serviceable rucksack.  She carefully began packing it with supplies and treasured items.

“Need a hand?” came a voice from the door; a voice that was becoming deliciously and frustratingly familiar.

“Is that a joke?” she replied with a quick glance over her shoulder.  He was leaning casually against the entry to the cave, his form silhouetted by the bright morning light behind him.  He looked rather dashing.

“Not at all, love,” he said easily, kicking off the wall and moving forward to look at the items she’d laid out on the bed.  He made a surprised noise and picked up her corset. 

“Sentimental attachment?” he said, raising an eyebrow and running his fingers over the embroidered silk. 

“The stays are useful,” she huffed, snatching the garment from his hands and flipping it over to show where she’d ripped the stitching out to remove several of them.

“Aye, the laces, too, and yet they remain on the garment…”

“I haven’t needed them yet,” she snapped, color rising in her cheeks.  “I’m _not_ sentimental.”

“Of course, darling,” he said dismissively.  “Then what’s this?”

He scooped up a carefully folded bundle of cloth.  He deftly undid the knot at the top.

“Don’t touch that!” she hissed, “It’s—”

She reached for it, but he rocked back, flipping open the cloth to reveal a glittering tiara and a monogrammed lace handkerchief.

“Oh,” he said, looking almost frightened.  He dropped the half-opened bundle back on to the bed as if it had bitten him.  He took a step back.

She scooped up the tiara, tucking the handkerchief within the crescent of it before tenderly rewrapping it and clutching it to her chest.

“Apologies, lass,” he murmured contritely. 

“You should keep your hands to yourself,” she admonished.

“ _Hand_ ,” he said self-deprecatingly, the barest hint of a sheepish smile lifting the corners of his lips.

She gripped the little bundle in her arms tightly.  It had been her mother’s tiara.  It was all she had left of her.  She knew she was shaking, but she didn’t care.

“E?” Hook asked tentatively, meeting her eyes with a curious, almost meek expression.

She shook her head fiercely, unwilling to explain the monogram he’d seen on the handkerchief.  She hadn’t said her name aloud while she’d been on Neverland, and she didn’t feel like changing that now. 

He lifted his hand as if to console her, but she shied away.  He dropped his arm and took a step back. 

“I’ll wait outside,” he said softly, turning and silently leaving her alone with her pain.

* * *

When she emerged from the cave, her bag was full, her head was high, and her tears had been scrubbed away.  Hook was leaning against a tree, apparently picking his fingernails with his hook.

He straightened up when he saw her, stepping forward and giving her a little smile.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Don’t you have a bag?” she asked skeptically. 

“Don’t need one, darling,” he said, smirking.  “I’m _flexible_.”

She rolled her eyes, wondering if all pirates were so full of themselves or just this one.  She’d been given the option to find out, she knew.  _One thing at a time_ , she told herself.

“Let’s go,” she said.


	5. Chapter 5

“Where are we going?”  Emma asked as they cut their way through the underbrush.

“We’ll need the help of a pixie if we’re to get off the island,” he said. 

“You mean Tinkerbell?” Emma asked.

“Ah, you’ve met her?” he said with interest.

“No, but the Lost Boys mentioned her from time to time,” Emma said.

“They would,” he said.  “She and Pan have quite a bit of history.”

“Pan has history with everyone on the island,” Emma muttered.

“Quite true, love,” he replied, slicing through a pair of vines.

“Will Tinkerbell help us?” Emma asked.

“Aye, I believe she will,” he said.  “The pixie owes me a favor.”

“And you know where to find her?” Emma asked.

“I do,” he said.  “She has a tree house several hours’ march from here.”

“Won’t your crew worry when you don’t return?” Emma asked after a moment.

“I plan on returning to my ship eventually, Swan,” Hook said with a curious look.  “But the crew is used to me taking time for myself.  They won’t worry overmuch about me.” 

“And you don’t worry that they will commandeer the ship in your absence?” she asked.

Hook stopped walking, spinning around.  Emma almost bumped into him.

“Why ever should I worry about that?” he asked, looking at Emma with confusion and surprise.

“Well, because they’re _pirates_ ,” she said as though it were obvious.

“Ah,” he said wistfully, rocking back on his heels, “the pirate thing.”

“Don’t you think they might decide to sail on without you?” she asked.

Hook made a noise somewhere between a sigh and an exasperated laugh.

“You shouldn’t put so much faith in labels, love,” he said with a sad smile.  “No one is defined by just one part of who they are.”

She thought about that for a moment, but Hook didn’t wait for a reply before he resumed walking.  She had to sprint to catch up with him, and they walked without talking for a time.

* * *

“Lady Bell!” Hook called when they entered the clearing below the tree house. 

Emma was surprised that they’d arrived.  She’d been in this clearing before—she’d even camped in the clearing before—and she’d never noticed the tree house.  The way up must be concealed somewhere, because there was no ladder or rope.  The tree house itself was fairly well camouflaged, but Emma was still a little annoyed that she’d never noticed it before, now that it was pointed out to her.  

“Go away, Hook!” replied an exasperated female voice from above.

“Not bloody likely,” he called back, a grin plastered across his face.  Clearly he and the fairy were friends.

A blonde head appeared in a space that must be a window, and the fairy was clearly trying to force a scowl.  She wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“Well, then—” she started in mock-anger, but she cut off when she saw Emma.  Her face changed to a softer, curious expression.  “Oh, who’s your friend?”

“Neverland’s first and only Lost _Girl_ ,” Hook said with a grin. 

The term made Emma flinch. 

“I’m called Swan,” Emma said, and her body reflexively moved to dip into a curtsey, but she aborted it, changing the movement into an awkward step forward.

“Pleased to meet you,” Tinkerbell said, bobbing her head.  “I’ll be right down.”

The fairy disappeared for a few minutes and reappeared on the ground, coming out from behind a large shrub.  She gave Hook a quick, light hug before turning to Emma with a smile.  Tinkerbell looked Emma over, from the top of her tangled head to the soles of her stolen boots.  Emma was sure she must be a sight in her ill-gotten Lost Boy rags.  She’d fallen quite far from royal silks.  Emma looked down self-consciously as the fairy examined her.  She didn’t have a mirror and there wasn’t much still water on Neverland, so she hadn’t seen her reflection in years.

Tinkerbell made a little humming sound, drawing Emma’s attention.  Tinkerbell was frowning at her, but she blinked suddenly, looking at Hook and then back to Emma.  Her smile widened a little as her eyebrows crept up her forehead. 

“That’s interesting,” the fairy said.

“What?” Emma asked. 

“You’ll find out,” Tinkerbell said, her smile looking almost smug.

“If you know something that could help, us…” Hook said.

“Help you what?” Tinkerbell asked.

“I’ve sworn to take this lass home,” Hook said.

Tinkerbell gasped.

“Is that all?” Tinkerbell said, eyes wide.  “Do you promise her the moon on a dish, too?”

“Don’t be like that, Tink,” Hook said, looking a little sheepish.

“How do you plan to get her off the island?” she asked in a skeptical tone.

“Fly, of course,” Hook said.

“With what?” Tinkerbell demanded.

“Pixie dust,” Hook answered.

“You know that the shadow destroys all the pixie dust on the island—” Tinkerbell started to say.

“Pan’s shadow?” Emma interrupted.

“Yes,” Tinkerbell said.

“Why would the shadow destroy pixie dust?” Emma asked. 

“The only way off this island…” Tinkerbell said.  “Well, the only way off this island for _humans_ is to fly,”

“And pixie dust makes you fly?” Emma guessed.

“It _lets_ you fly,” the fairy clarified, “but the shadow destroys the dust before anyone can collect it.”

“But someone could gather the dust if the shadow was otherwise occupied?” Hook asked.

“Yes,” Tinkerbell said.  “In theory.”

“How long would it take to gather enough dust to launch the Jolly Roger?” he said.

“Hours,” she said.  “No one could distract the shadow that long, and if they did, Pan would know.  It’s suicide.”

“But it’s possible,” Hook said.

“Are you _listening_?” Tinkerbell hissed, looking frustrated with the pirate.  “You can’t draw the shadow away from Pan’s bidding, not for long enough.”

Hook opened his mouth to make some retort, but Emma spoke first.

“It is possible,” Emma said softly, causing both Hook and Tinkerbell to look at her.

“What’s that, love?” Hook asked.

“It’s possible,” Emma said, louder.

“How?” Tinkerbell asked.

“The shadow is drawn to light,” Emma said, “like a moth.”

“How is that helpful?” Tinkerbell said with a little sigh.

“Let her speak,” Hook admonished.

“I saw one of the Lost Boys draw the shadow to a lantern, once,” Emma said.  “It was a moonless night, and the shadow seemed… _compelled_ to go to the flame.”

“Go on,” Hook encouraged.

“When the shadow was near the lantern, the boy flipped a wash tub over it, and…” 

Emma paused to take a deep breath. 

“And it was trapped,” she finished.

“A Lost Boy trapped Pan’s shadow?” Tinkerbell said incredulously.

“Only for a minute,” Emma said.  “The washtub snuffed the flame in the lantern, and then the shadow was free again.” 

“I still don’t see how this is helpful,” Tinkerbell complained.

“It’s brilliant,” Hook said.  “All we need is a trap that won’t snuff the light.”

“If air can get in, then the shadow can escape,” Tinkerbell pointed out.  “It can fit through a keyhole.”

“It cannot escape if it cannot see where it is going,” Hook said.  “If the air holes were very small, then the shadow would be blinded by the light of the flame, unable to see outside the prison.”

Tinkerbell looked thoughtful for a minute.

“You’re making quite an assumption,” Tinkerbell said.  “Not to mention the fact that you’d have to get close enough to the shadow to use the trap.  How do you plan to get the shadow to come to you?”

Hook scratched his ear while he thought.

“We could go to the shadow,” Emma said tentatively.

“Go to the shadow?” Tinkerbell asked.

“You mean..?” Hook said with a grimace.

“Dark Hollow,” Emma said with a grim nod.

“I won’t go anywhere near Dark Hollow,” Tinkerbell said, eyes wide.

“Of course not,” Hook said, “you have to gather the dust.”

“And what if your trap doesn’t work?” Tink asked.

“That would be your risk,” Hook said, “but it is far smaller than braving the Hollow, hmm?”

Tinkerbell looked uncomfortable.

“You do owe me a favor, Tink,” Hook said with a grin.

That didn’t make Tinkerbell happy.

“You’re mad,” she said finally.  “You’ve gone completely ‘round the bend.”

“Possible,” Hook said, grinning.  “Does that mean you’re in?”

Tinkerbell shook her head, but her lips quirked up into a small smile. 

“I’ll collect the dust,” Tinkerbell said.  “You try not to die.  And keep an eye on your Lost Girl.  She’s special.”

Hook gave Emma an appraising look as Emma frowned at the fairy.

“I will,” he said in a low, raw voice.

The way Hook was looking at her made Emma blush.  She looked away self-consciously, picking at a thread at the cuff of her sleeve.

“Good then,” Tinkerbell said, nodding to Hook.  “Off with you.”

“What?” Hook said.

“Go on,” Tinkerbell replied, moving to stand next to Emma.  “Can’t you see the girl is tired?  You go find us some supper while I clean her up and settle her in.”

Hook and Emma both started to protest, but Tink put her arm around Emma and made a show of patting her back.  Emma’s expression turned to one of surprise.

Hook’s eyes tightened in suspicion, but he bowed his head and raised his arms in a little mock bow.

“If the lady insists,” he said with only a hint of sarcasm.

He backed away slowly, turning with a flourish at the edge of the clearing.  He disappeared into the foliage.

“What was—” Emma began.

“Shh!” Tinkerbell hissed.  “We’ll talk in the house.”

The fairy took Emma by the arm and led her through the bushes and away from the clearing.

“Where are we going?” Emma whispered, starting to get nervous.

“Up to my home,” Tinkerbell said.

“But that’s behind us, now,” Emma protested.

“Yes, but the way up is ahead,” Tink said. 

She pointed to a narrow tree crisscrossed with thick vines.  The vines twined and braided themselves around the trunk and up into the branches, tying the slender tree to its neighbors. 

“Up we go,” Tink said when they arrived at the base of the vine-covered tree.  “After you.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at the smiling fairy before turning to examine the tree.  From afar, it had looked like any other vine-strangled tree, but up close, she could see that handholds and footholds had been carefully carved out, turning the vines into a sturdy ladder.  Emma was able to climb up into the branches of the tree quite easily.  There, she was surprised to find a bridge linking the tree she was in to the next one.  Looking up from below, all she’d seen was branches and vines, but up here, there was a clear walkway with a guard railing of sorts made from carefully lashed-together vines and small branches.

“Wow,” Emma said softly as Tinkerbell joined her on the little platform.

“Thanks,” the pixie said with a little smile, squeezing past Emma to start walking across the bridge.  “Watch your step when you’re at the middle, between two trees.  The bridge is weakest there.  And keep a distance from me.  You look light, but there’s no sense testing the bridges unnecessarily.”

Emma nodded and waited until Tinkerbell was all the way across the first bridge before she followed.  The branches swayed and bowed under her weight when she reached the furthest point between the trees, and she was glad that Tinkerbell had suggested they keep apart.

They crossed three more trees, ascending as they did so.  By the time they arrived at the tree house, they were quite high in the canopy.

Emma’s jaw dropped open when she saw the house. 

Branches from two trees had been painstakingly woven together to create the floor, and smaller branches above had been braided with vines and carefully trained into a roof.  There were no walls, though there was a railing of sorts made of more branches and vines.  The room was surprisingly big.

Emma couldn’t imagine how long it must have taken for the tree to grow into the shape, making the house large enough to live in.  She couldn’t help but think of her own little cave, which had slowly evolved into a comfortable nest over the years. 

“Wow,” Emma said again.

Tinkerbell grinned.

“How long did this take?” Emma asked reverently.

“Years and years,” Tinkerbell said with a shrug.  “What else do you do with your time on Neverland?”

Emma nodded.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Thanks,” Tink said.  “Please have a seat.”

She gestured to a pile of woven mats and Emma obligingly sat down.  Tink perched on a bench made from a large branch nearby.

“How long have you practiced magic?” Tinkerbell asked almost casually.

“What?” Emma exclaimed, alarmed.  “I’ve never practiced magic.”

Tinkerbell gave Emma a patronizing smile.

“I haven’t!” Emma said, her brow crinkling.

“I may have lost my wings, but I can still see the magic in you,” the pixie said, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t have any magic!” Emma protested.

“You really don’t know?” Tinkerbell said after a moment, looking surprised.

“Know what?” Emma demanded.

“What I’m talking about.  You really didn’t know,” Tinkerbell said, eyes wide.  “Swan, you have so much magic in you, you glow like a fairy.”

She didn’t think the fairy was lying, and that scared her.  Emma’s face contorted into a mask of horror.

“That’s not a bad thing!” Tinkerbell said, reading Emma’s expression.

“Yes it is!” Emma exclaimed.  “Magic always comes with a price.”

  “That is true, but…” Tinkerbell stopped suddenly, cocking her head to the side.  “How did you come to be in Neverland?”

“That’s my business,” Emma said defensively, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“The shadow wouldn’t take a girl, not after…” she shook her head.  “And you’re no mermaid—”  Emma blinked at that.  “—so how did you get here?  Portal?”

Emma flinched at the word, but said nothing.

“Ah, portal it is, then,” Tink said, “but not willingly, I see.”

Emma continued to hunch herself into a smaller ball.

“You are quite the puzzle, Miss Swan,” Tinkerbell said thoughtfully.  “Beside the fact that you and Hook—”

“Lady Bell!” called the irritated voice of the pirate she’d just named, “where have you taken the Swan girl?”

Tinkerbell hopped to her feet and moved to the edge of the platform.  She dropped down to a lower area, out of Emma’s line of sight.     

“I’ve rescued her from you, pirate!” Tinkerbell called down good-naturedly. 

“You should know better than to steal from a pirate, love,” Hook said with what sounded like mirth and a slight edge of danger.

“Give over, you rogue,” Tinkerbell teased.  “What have you gathered for our supper?”

“Coconuts, mostly,” Hook replied.

“Such a fearsome hunter,” the pixie said with happy sarcasm.

“Oi!  Just lower that bloody basket,” Hook grumbled.

Several minutes later, Tinkerbell returned to the main room of the house with a basket full of coconuts and fruit. 

“Is Hook coming up?” Emma asked.

Tinkerbell smiled at the girl. 

“He’s passing clever and I didn’t cover our tracks,” she said.  “He’ll find us eventually.”

“He’s never been up here before?” Emma asked, curious.

“Of course not!” Tinkerbell said as if scandalized.  “He may be a gentleman, but he’s still a _man_.”

Emma frowned at that, thoughtful.

“What were you going to say before?” Emma asked.  “You said he and I…?”

“It’s nothing to worry yourself over,” Tink said with a grin. 

“But I want to know.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” the pixie said. 

Emma just frowned.

“Here,” Tink said.  “Let me fill the basin so you can wash your hands and face.  There will be rain tonight, so my reserves will be restocked.  If the rain’s heavy enough, we might be able to clean the rest of us in it.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Emma said sincerely. 

“And maybe I can find a hair brush…” the fairy said, examining Emma.

The princess turned a little pink at that, so she tried to hide her face in the basin.  She scrubbed her face with the sponge Tink gave her, watching the water tint brown with each splash and rinse. 

Gods, she was filthy! 

It hadn’t really bothered her before, when she’d been alone.  Now that she was interacting with other people, it made her self-conscious.

Hook arrived after Emma dumped the third basin of water.  Her face and neck felt raw from scrubbing, and her hands and forearms were bright pink. 

“You’ve outdone yourself, Lady Bell,” Hook said as he looked around the tree house.  When his eyes fell on Emma, his lips twitched up into an amused smirk. 

“If you say one disparaging word to her, Hook, I will toss you out of my tree house,” Tink threatened.

Hook grinned, his eyes crinkling. 

“You’ve scrubbed the years off of her, Tink,” he said.  “She looks so young…”

Hook blinked, leaning closer to Emma, his smile vanishing.

“How old are you, love?” Hook asked quietly.  “How old were you in your realm?”

His blue eyes were wide and too close.  He’d leaned into her personal space. 

“I am—I mean, I _was_ sixteen, before I came here,” Emma stammered.  “But I’ve been here several years.  I’d be—I mean, I _am_ twenty-one, now.  I think.”

“Not sure it works that way, love,” Hook said gently.  “By your reckoning, I’m near a hundred.”

Emma’s mouth fell open.

“Then we really are frozen, here,” she whispered. 

She’d already known it, really.  She had just never let herself think about it.  She had plenty of evidence:  None of the Lost Boys had aged in her two years with them.  One unfortunate fellow’s voice had been caught halfway between a boy and a man, squeaking with every other word.  And Emma had heard boys talking about Pan and things that had happened years before, when they must have been toddlers if they were aging normally.  And then there was her own body, which should have been changing with the moon, but wasn’t.

She didn’t really mind that part.

 But to be stuck for a century?

She shuddered.

“Time stands still in Neverland,” Hook said quietly.

“I’m not a child anymore,” Emma said passionately, meeting his eyes, challenging him to contradict her.

“No,” he murmured, searching her face.  “No one really stays a child in Neverland.” 

Emma couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes.  She thought she saw pain and caring, protectiveness and regret.  She didn’t understand, but it cut through her anger and she couldn’t look away.

The rain started, then. 

It began as if someone had burst a dam.  There was the patter of the first few drops, and then it came in a downpour. 

“No telling how long it will last,” Tinkerbell said to Emma, interrupting her reverie.  “If you want to bathe in it, we best go now.”

Emma finally looked away from the pirate’s eyes, turning to nod at the fairy.  She stood up and followed as Tinkerbell climbed a little vine ladder through the room’s roof to an upper level.  This area was clearly Tink’s sleeping quarters (which had a roof) and a little balcony that was naked to the sky. 

Tink flipped a trap door over the entry, blocking Hook from them. 

Emma immediately began removing her outer layers of clothing, eager to be clean.  Tink took them from her and laid them out in the rain to let the downpour knock some of the dirt out of them. 

“I’ve got something you can change into,” she said to Emma.  “Your clothes could use a wash, too.”

“Thank you,” Emma said gratefully.

When Emma stepped out into the rain, she let out a little groan.  The water was cool, and it felt nice after a day tromping through the hot jungle.  Tink handed Emma another sponge, and Emma began scrubbing herself and her inner layers of clothing. 

Tinkerbell started attacking Emma’s hair with some kind of soap, and when Emma turned to look, she saw that Tink had completely disrobed.  Emma doffed the rest of her clothing after only a moment’s hesitation.  The thought of being completely clean overpowered any embarrassment she might have felt. 

The rain fell hard for almost an hour.  It was dark by the time the downpour dwindled to a lazy drizzle.  Emma felt like her entire body was tingling from the scrubbing she’d given it.  Her scalp burned in an almost pleasant way from the rough soap Tink had used on her hair. 

Her hair was hanging straight down her back, cascading all the way to her hips.  Tink had washed it and combed it out for her.  Emma wrung it out and then quickly braided in into one long plait.

Tinkerbell struck a spark, igniting a small candle in the well of an old coconut.  The candle was short and stubby, and Emma realized that if Tink dropped or knocked over the candle, the flame would be safely contained in the orb of the coconut. 

“I don’t keep lanterns, for obvious reasons,” the fairy said with an apologetic smile. 

The small light source wasn’t really needed on the higher level, since the moon was out.  Emma knew the fairy had lit it for her to take back down to the main level.

“Thank you,” she said.

Tinkerbell smiled and handed her a simple linen shift, sleeveless and knee-length.  Emma put it on gratefully.  She was chilled after her hour of standing in the cool rain.  She was shivering when she descended the ladder.  Tinkerbell passed the little coconut lamp to her once she was down.

“Good night,” Tinkerbell said.  It looked like she was smirking.  Why would she be doing that?

“Thank you,” Emma said again. 

Tinkerbell smiled at that before closing her trapdoor again.

Emma turned to look around the main level.  The floor of the tree house was very uneven, except in one place, where it had been flattened and then covered over with woven mats.  Hook was reclining there, stretched out with his arms behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles.  His boots and coat were set aside neatly.  Emma’s bedroll was laid out next to him. 

Her choices seemed to be lying next to the pirate or being extremely uncomfortable.  She momentarily considered trying to get down to the ground level, but she was finally clean and didn’t like the idea of sleeping in the mud.  With a sigh, she shuffled toward the pirate.  He’d put himself between her and the railing, which was some comfort.  Emma wasn’t too restless of a sleeper, but she didn’t like the idea of sleeping near the drop off. 

“Welcome back, love,” he said quietly as she knelt down on the bedroll.  “Feeling better?”

She’d never needed a blanket before in Neverland, due to the warmth, but tonight, she wished she had one.

“M-much,” she mumbled, her teeth chattering.

He sat up suddenly, his hand reaching out to encircle her arm. 

“You’re skin as cold as ice, love!” he exclaimed, looking concerned.

“It’s f-fine,” she stuttered, but he was already invading her personal space, rubbing one of her upper arms with his palm and the other with the inside of his lower arm. 

“No, it bloody well is _not_ ,” he muttered.  “Lie down.  Face that way.”

She gave him a panicked look and pulled away from him.

“No, love,” he said frantically, his eyes going wide.  “I’m not—I won’t…  We just need to get you warm, Swan, and we can’t exactly light a fire.”

He reached for his coat and draped it around her the wrong way, covering her chest with it instead of her back.  She thrust her arms into the sleeves gratefully before tucking her hands back into her armpits.  The coat smelled wonderful, like leather and sea and him.  It calmed her a little, but she was still on edge.

“I promise,” he said, searching her eyes.  “I won’t… I wouldn’t…  Not without your consent.”

She believed him.  She knew that there wasn’t any reason for her to believe him, but she did.  She just hoped she wasn’t wrong about him.

“O-k-kay,” she chattered, lying down with her back to him and curling up into a ball.

He laid down behind her and scooted right up against her, his front conforming to the curve of her back.  He tucked his knees up behind hers, and she couldn’t help but press her icy feet against the tops of his warm ones.

She sighed gratefully and he made a little hiss of surprise when her cold toes pressed against his skin.  He flipped the bottom of the coat over her legs and feet and then wrapped his arm around her, pulling him tight to his chest. 

“Gods, you’re shivering,” he murmured.  He slid his left arm under her, making a pillow for her head.  “What were you thinking?”

Emma appreciated his concern, but she did _not_ appreciate his tone.

“I was thinking,” she said a little huffily, “that I hadn’t had a proper bath in years.  I couldn’t ever risk it after… after…”

He squeezed her tighter, and it felt to Emma like he was shaking now, too.

“I’m sorry, Swan,” he murmured into her hair, his voice raw.  She thought he kissed the top of her head, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “It’s fine,” she repeated.

“No, love, it really isn’t,” he said with a sad sigh. 

Emma didn’t want to talk about it, so she stayed quiet.  She didn’t want to think about it, either.  Luckily, she was distracted by the pirate himself and could easily ignore his words. 

He was so _warm_.  She snuggled back against him, eliciting a surprised intake of breath from him and what sounded like a muffled groan.  He shifted against her a little, like he was trying to get comfortable.  She didn’t mind.  It felt… nice.  It felt really nice, actually.  In fact, she was feeling much warmer, now, even though her fingers and toes were still a little numb.  His breath against her neck and the heat of him along her back and bottom were more pleasant than she would care to admit.  Her whole body seemed to be relaxing, melting into him, muscle by muscle.

“Good night, Hook,” she whispered drowsily as her eyes fell closed.

“Sleep well, Swan,” he murmured, rubbing his nose in her hair.

Emma let Hook’s even breathing and the sound of the gentle rain lull her to sleep.

* * *

Killian Jones held the shivering princess as she fell asleep. 

She’d stolen his breath when she’d descended from the upper level of the tree house.  She looked like some ethereal creature in her gauzy shift, the thin material fluttering around her like it was made of air.  The fabric did nothing to conceal the shape of her body, which was quite lovely.  Her long hair resembled spun gold and shined in the light of her tiny lamp. 

She kept surprising him with her contradictory natures.  She was both soft and gruff, mild and fiery, sweet and stubborn, delicate and strong. 

He’d been surprised at how much he’d missed her when Tinkerbell had stolen her away.  When he’d seen her again, he’d been so relieved, and yet nervous.  She was so young. 

But her eyes were far older than they should be. 

And then the damn pixie had stolen her away again. 

He truly couldn’t begrudge the girl the desire to bathe, especially after her admission of fear, but he didn’t like having her out of his sight, out of his reach. 

She was quite within his reach, now, nestled against his chest.  Her breathing had slowed, and she’d gone limp, finally.  He drew his right arm back from where it had been wrapped around her and stroked her hair, which was still quite damp. 

While she’d been above, he’d grown listless, pacing the rough floor of the tree house.  He’d forced himself to settle eventually and eaten some of the fruit he’d gathered.  As the rain had darkened the sky, he’d decided to set up her sleeping mat.  There’d really only been one place to put it, so he’d hoped she wouldn’t mind lying next to him (or better yet, sharing the mattress). 

He hadn’t meant to snoop when he’d opened her bag, but he couldn’t help himself from looking through what she’d decided to pack.  She’d packed light.  Her bedroll was strapped to the top of the satchel, and it was the heavier portion of her load.  In the bag itself, he found her corset (which made him smile), her cup and kettle, some dried trail rations and an extra canteen, and carefully concealed at the very bottom of her bag was her delicately wrapped tiara and handkerchief. 

They had shocked him the first time he’d seen them.  He’d already guessed that she was royal, but to have the proof in his own hand was another thing entirely.  He opened the parcel again while the rain fell heavily around him.  The light was dim, but the gemstones set in the tiara caught what light there was and threw it around like a child tossing flower petals. 

It was a beautiful crown, well-crafted and clearly old, surely passed down from mother to daughter.  The way Swan had preserved it spoke of her relationship with her mother, and that spoke to Killian, too.  This girl, this Swan, was so many-faceted, like the gems in her tiara. 

Princess, Lost Girl, daughter, survivor, victim, fighter...

He’d drawn out the handkerchief, examining it.  It was white lace with a dark purple ribbon threaded along the edges, punctuated with bows.  It had been folded before, so he’d only been able to see the “E,” but now he could see that if he unfolded it, the rest of the name would be revealed.  He wanted to know it, he wanted it more than he probably should, but he’d already pried further into her belongings than was honorable.  With a sigh, he gave the still-folded handkerchief a little kiss, inhaling its sweet, spicy scent—cinnamon?—before carefully replacing it where it belonged with the rest of Swan’s possessions.     

He tucked her bag away near the trunk of one of the trees that held up the house and laid out her bedroll on the flattest portion of the floor.  He gathered together a few of Tinkerbell’s woven mats to make himself a bed next to Swan’s.  He took off his hook, coat, and boots, setting them aside before stretching out on the mats.  They were lumpy and a little musty, but sleeping in the tree house was far preferable to sleeping on the ground during a storm like this one. 

He’d just gotten comfortable when Swan came down. 

And now he was deliciously uncomfortable.  His left arm was falling asleep, his neck was aching from the way his head was balanced against the mats, and he was frustratingly aware of the half-clothed woman pressed firmly against him. 

He wondered what Tinkerbell had been thinking sending her down in such a state of undress.  Was it really all she had to wear?  Or was it some kind of pixie game?  Either way, it was going to be a difficult night with a pretty little princess sighing and wiggling against him.  Carefully, he shifted their positions, scooting her to the far edge of the mat and then drawing away from her.  She whimpered when he did so, the sound pulling at Killian’s heart.  She rolled toward him, which is what he’d hoped would happen, and he tucked her into the crook of his arm, her face pillowed on his chest as he lay on his back.  Her left hand came up to curl into the cloth of his shirt, which made Killian smile.  He put his hand over hers, holding her slightly chilled fingers.

It was still an intimate embrace, but not quite as provocative.  He thought he might actually be able to fall asleep in this position.

Eventually, he did.


	6. Chapter 6

Emma woke up slowly, leisurely.  She was warm and comfortable, her fingers twisting in her pillowcase.  She could feel the weight of her blankets, tangled around her arms.  She could smell the salt of the sea and something spicy and strangely familiar.  Her blankets didn’t usually smell that way, but she wasn’t concerned.  The smell was comforting.  She snuggled a little deeper into her pillow, and it rumbled in response.

What?

Her fingers froze as realization slowly crept into her sleep-addled mind.  She wasn’t at home in her room in the palace.  She was still in Neverland, and her pillow was a pirate.  She felt her cheeks go warm as she tried to decide how best to handle the situation.  On one hand, she was warm and comfortable.  Hook seemed to still be asleep, so that was something.  On the other hand, she was basically _in bed_ with a pirate.  She wasn’t even dressed!  What would her mother say?  That thought made her groan, though she tried to stifle it. 

She cracked open one eye, trying to take a stealthy glimpse at the man she was intimately clinging to.  Bright blue eyes were watching her.  She shut hers quickly, but he’d clearly seen her.  His chest vibrated under her cheek as he chuckled.

“Good morning,” he said very quietly, the words reverberating against her skin.

She pulled away immediately, scooting off the bedroll and curling up into a ball, her knees pressed to her chest.  She hid behind his coat to cover her near-nakedness. 

She couldn’t believe she’d actually come down last night in just a shift.  What had she been thinking?  The euphoria from finally being clean must have made her drunk.

“You needn’t move on my account,” he’d said as she’d fled his side.  She finally registered the words, and her eyes went wide, her head jerking up to meet his gaze.

His expression was warm, with his eyes crinkled a little and his lips curved into a smirk.  He was sitting up, leaning on his elbows.

“I apologize for my lack of propriety,” she said stiffly, embarrassed.

“There was no impropriety, love,” he murmured.  “I told you I’m a gentleman.”

“I—I need to find some clothing,” she stammered, scooting backwards again and trying to figure out how to stand while keeping herself concealed. 

Hook immediately closed his eyes, sensing her distress.  He sat up completely and turned to put his back to her.

Emma scrambled ungracefully to her feet, looking around.  Dimly, she remembered that her clothing was on the upper level with Tinkerbell. 

The trap door to the pixie’s chamber was closed, and Emma didn’t want to be a rude guest, so she didn’t knock or call out.  Instead, she carefully rearranged Hook’s coat on her body, slipping it off and then back on the right way around.  She did up all the buttons, covering herself from neck to ankle.  The lapels of the coat left a wide wedge of exposed flesh at her chest, but there was enough slack for Emma to hold the lapels closed with one hand.

“Thank you for the coat,” Emma said softly after double-checking to make sure she was properly covered.

Hook took her words as an indication that he could turn around and open his eyes. 

“I’ll want it back,” he drawled, his eyes traveling down to her feet and back up. 

“Eventually,” he added quickly when he saw her stiffen at his original statement.  “Though I won’t deny it looks good on you.”

Emma fidgeted self-consciously and said nothing.  

 “Are you hungry, love?” he asked after a beat.  “You didn’t eat anything last night, as I recall.”

Her stomach growled as if on command, despite the butterflies that filled it.

“Yes,” she said meekly. 

Hook hopped to his feet, snatching up his namesake attachment and snapping it into place as he did so.  He walked past her to the basket of fruit and plucked a coconut, using his hook to poke a hole through the husk.  He offered it to her with a small smile, and she took it gratefully.

“Thank you,” she said.

He inclined his head in response and turned back to the fruit basket. 

Emma sipped coconut water and tried to think about anything other than snuggling with a pirate.  She stared at the coconut in her hands for a long moment before her eyes slid off of it to the little coconut lantern that Tinkerbell had given her the night before.  Something tickled the back of Emma’s mind, but she couldn’t get the thought to coalesce into something tangible. 

A loud crack made Emma startle, and she looked to see that her pirate companion had cracked open a sprouted coconut to get at the meat inside.  She watched as he drew the husk open, the two halves coming apart along a clean, curved line. 

The gears in Emma’s head slowly clicked into place as Hook plucked the globe of partially germinated coconut meat from the center of the nut, its flesh glistening white like fresh wax.

“I know how to make a trap for the shadow,” she said in a rush as Hook offered the orb of coconut meat to her.

“Excellent,” he said as she took the sticky treat from his fingers.  “Would you care to share the information?”

She took a bite first, savoring the sweet flavor as her eyes fluttered closed.  She licked her lips and took another bite.  Before she realized it, she’d finished the coconut center and was sucking the last of its sweetness off her fingers.

“Don’t leave me in suspense, love,” Hook said good-naturedly as she finished eating, but his voice held just a hint of… desperation?  No, that wasn’t right.  But there was a rawness, a neediness in his voice, like _desire_ , but that couldn’t be it.  Could it? 

“A coconut,” she declared, opening her eyes to find him staring at her with poorly concealed lust. 

Her breath caught in her throat at the way he was looking at her, her eyes going wide. 

He looked away immediately. 

When he looked at her again, his face was completely composed, returning to his usual slightly smug expression.

“A coconut?” he said incredulously, cocking an eyebrow.  His voice seemed a little shaky, but he looked completely relaxed.

Had she imagined the look he’d given her before?  Or was he pretending it hadn’t happened?

“Yes,” she said weakly.  She shook her head and stood up a little straighter.  “We can trap the shadow in a coconut.”

He still looked doubtful. 

She crouched to pick up the fairy’s lamp.  She stood up, showing him the remains of the burnt out candle in the well of the coconut shell.    

“We can make a lamp like this one, but keep the other half of the coconut for a lid,” she explained.  “If we poke holes in it, air can enter and keep the fire going, but the shadow shouldn’t be able to escape.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” he said with a wide smile that made her feel warm.

She smiled back at him and leaned forward, drawn in by the joy in his eyes.  He leaned in, too, his eyes flicking to her lips for just a second.

“What’s brilliant?” chirped Tinkerbell as she looked down on them through the trap door to her room above.

Emma’s head snapped in the direction of the fairy and she took a step backwards from the pirate.

“Swan’s plan for trapping the shadow,” Hook said easily, leaning against the nearby trunk of one of the trees and looking bored again.  

What was going on with him?  Or was Emma going crazy?

“Which is?” Tinkerbell asked, hopping down to the main level of the tree house.

“A coconut,” Hook said with a smirk.

Tinkerbell did not seem amused.

“Your candle holder inspired me,” Emma explained to the fairy.  “If we made a little lantern like that, with a lid, we could trap the shadow inside.”

“Oh,” Tinkerbell said, “that might work.”

“It will work,” Hook declared as though he believed it. 

“One way to find out,” Emma said with a sigh.

* * *

Hook began working on the coconut cage while Emma followed Tinkerbell back up to her room to fetch her clothing.  Everything was still damp, but it was certainly cleaner.  Tinkerbell had sprinkled some kind of sweet-smelling powder over everything, too, which was nice. 

Once she was properly clothed, Emma gave Tinkerbell back the borrowed shift and folded up Hook’s coat, taking one last deep inhalation of its delightful aroma. 

Tinkerbell stopped Emma before she could go back down, putting her hand on Emma’s shoulder.

“Wait,” the fairy said.

Emma looked at her with curiosity.

“When you get to the Dark Hollow,” Tinkerbell said, “don’t forget what I told you before.”

“About magic?” Emma said, frowning.

“It might be useful to you,” Tink said.

Emma doubted it, but she gave the fairy a little nod.

They descended and found that Hook had already constructed the coconut shell for the lantern trap.  He’d poked a dozen or so holes in the lid.  Tinkerbell and Emma carefully melted a candle into the bottom of it, securing it in place. 

Hook lit the candle using a flint and the curve of his namesake.  He handed it to Emma, who carefully fit the lid in place, checking to make sure the flame had plenty of air flow.  

“We’ll want to bind it once the shadow is inside,” Hook said, and Emma nodded before she blew out the candle.

Emma chewed her lip for a moment before digging her corset out of her bag.  She reluctantly undid the lacings.  She knew that she shouldn’t feel attached to the garment, but she did.  She told herself that if the plan worked, she’d be going home, where she wouldn’t need to preserve her undergarments as sentimental reminders.  And if the plan failed… Well, then she wouldn’t need anything ever again, because she’d be dead.

“That’s lovely,” Tinkerbell said as Emma worked on the corset.  She was clearly curious about the rich garment but not pushing.  Emma didn’t fee like sharing, so she just shrugged. 

“Isn’t it lovely?” the pixie continued.  She turned to face Hook, but he didn’t indulge her. 

The fairy’s expression grew mildly annoyed, but she minded her manners and didn’t ask again. 

“The shadow goes to the pixie wood at dawn, doesn’t it?” Hook asked Tinkerbell, trying to change the subject. 

“Yes,” she said.  “It goes through the trees, destroying all the new buds and collecting any dust that has blossomed.  It doesn’t take long to do so, since it can fly.”

 “Could you fly, too, with some of the dust?” he said.

“It’s possible,” Tink said, looking nervous.  “I’ve never tried.  I haven’t flown since I lost my wings.”

“Speed may be important,” Hook said.

“Not if your trap works,” the fairy countered.  “You need to keep that flame going until the candle snuffs itself naturally.  I’d guess it will last about three hours.”

“Aye, the one from last night did,” Hook said, making Emma look up.

He’d been awake for three hours?  Why?

Hook wasn’t looking at Emma, so she couldn’t see his expression.  Tinkerbell snorted, clearly drawing some conclusion that Emma couldn’t fathom.

“I think we should stay with the trap for perhaps the first two and a half and then run like hell,” Hook said.  “Would that give you enough time, Lady Bell?”

“Depends on where your ship is,” the pixie replied.

Emma finished unlacing the corset then. 

“Hook?” Emma asked, drawing his attention to her.  “Will you add another hole, please, just here?”

She held up the coconut, indicating a spot on the side near the lid. 

“Of course, love,” he said, taking the shell from her hands.  “Whatever for?”

“I’m going to run the lacing through the hole and this one on the lid, to keep them together and lined up properly,” Emma explained.  “So we don’t have to worry about which way ‘round the lid goes in the Dark Hollow.”

“Clever,” he said with a grin as he drove his hook into the shell where Emma had indicated.  He handed it back to her, his thumb brushing her fingers.

The casual touch gave her a little shiver.  She had clearly been alone too long if something so small could affect her so strongly.

“Thank you,” Emma said a little breathily.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, holding on to the coconut for a moment longer before letting go.   

“Your ship?” Tinkerbell said again.  “Where is it?”

“Anchored near the north end of the cliffs,” he said, his eyes still on Emma, “about as equidistant between the pixie wood and the Dark Hollow as you can get a ship of her size.”

“That’s over an hour’s hike,” Tink said.

“Aye, but there’s no help for that,” he said, finally looking at the pixie.

“I suppose not,” she sighed, “be careful at the Hollow.”

“I will be,” he said, nodding.

“ _We_ will be,” Emma said.

“Swan—” Hook began to protest.

“I’m going to the Hollow,” she said evenly.  “This is my quest.”

Hook frowned but made no argument.

“When should we go?” Emma asked.

Hook sighed and tugged at his ear before replying.

“We’ll need to be in the Hollow just before sunrise,” he said, “and it’s a few hours from here by foot.  There’s a small clearing not too far from there were we could rest for the evening.  If we leave now, we’ll be there before sunset.”

“Does that give you enough time to get to the pixie wood?” Emma asked Tinkerbell.

“Yes,” she said.  “It’s closer, so I haven’t as far to go as you two.”

“Then let’s go,” Emma said determinedly.

“As you wish,” Hook said quietly.

* * *

Emma and Hook made quick goodbyes with Tinkerbell, who was staying at the tree house for a while longer before heading out on her own. 

“After you, lass,” Hook said, gesturing for Emma to cross the first bridge before him. 

Tinkerbell caught Emma’s eyes and mouthed the word, “remember.” 

Emma frowned at that and turned away, beginning the long descent to the ground. 

At the bottom, Emma found that the heavy downpour from the night before had turned the earth to mud.  Low places were still pooled with collected rain water.

“How much will this slow us?” Emma asked as she yanked her left boot up from where the mud had sucked it down.

“Not much if we can keep high ground,” he said, offering her his hand to get past another muddy section.  “We can follow the ridge most of the way to the Hollow.”

He was right.  Once they got to the rocky outcropping that ran through the jungle, they were able to stay on or near the rocks and out of the mud.  It required climbing in several spots, and Emma and Hook ended up helping each other over obstacles frequently.  That meant that they were touching each other frequently, and Emma wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

As a princess, she’d been taught to keep a physical distance from non-family members.  Even at balls and events, she always sat apart, with her parents. She had been allowed some leeway with Neal, since he was basically family, though they had been kept increasingly apart as they matured.

On Neverland, touch hadn’t been a pleasant thing.  For five years, the only time anyone had laid a hand on Emma, it had been with harmful intent.  The only embraces she’d known were that of the shadow when it impersonated her loved ones (and it had taken her a long time to realize the trick) and of Felix, whose intentions had been clear.

But now she was exchanging casual touches with Hook, and it felt so _good_.  Emma assumed it was because she’d never really experienced that kind of thing before.  She’d been helped in and out of carriages and over puddles by guards, but the guards had always been gloved, and she’d never really known them, spoken to them.  They’d been doing their duty.  But as she took Hook’s arm and he lifted her over a gravelly section of the ridge, she felt warm and content.  When she grabbed the lapel of his coat to steady herself, she felt her cheeks go pink and her pulse speed up.       

She found herself touching his shoulder when her balance faltered instead of the nearby rock.  His hand or arm was always waiting for her when there was a rough bit of terrain for them to cross.  In places where she scrambled ahead of him, to test a precarious-looking wash with her lighter weight or to scout a higher ledge for the best way forward, she found herself offering him her hand, even though he probably didn’t need it.  He took it every time it was offered.

They hiked this way, without conversation, for over an hour.

All of a sudden, Emma realized that neither of them had let go of each other after crossing a little stream.  They’d been holding hands for several minutes, even though the footing beyond the stream had been sure.

Emma stopped in shock, turning to look at the dashing pirate.

“Swan, what’s wrong?” he said, his eyes searching her face as his brow crinkled with concern.  His thumb brushed back and forth across the back of her hand as his fingers squeezed hers. 

She pulled her hand away, and he let it go immediately, his gaze going to his own hand.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, turning to continue ahead on her own.  She needed to clear her head.  She shouldn’t want to hold a pirate’s hand—especially not this pirate.  He was _Captain Hook_.  He’d killed Lost Boys, according to what she’d heard in their camp.  He was a thief and a liar and a cheat… And a gentleman.

She looked back.

He was standing where she’d left him, his eyes still on his own hand as he flexed his fingers.  He looked puzzled.  Did their easy physicality confuse him, too?  She didn’t see why it would.  Surely he was used to touching women.

“Tired already?” she called to him teasingly, wanting to defuse whatever troubled thoughts he was having.

His head snapped up and his eyes were wide and startled for a moment before he melted back into his usual cocky swagger and smirk.  

“Not hardly, darling,” he lilted seductively as he came towards her.  “I have excellent stamina.”

“I’m not seeing it,” Emma said with a sarcastic little smirk.

“I’m more than happy to give you a demonstration, love,' he drawled.

“Demonstrate by getting us to the Hollow,” she said.

He grinned at that, catching up to her and brushing past her, the back of his hand sliding along hers for a moment.  She almost caught his fingers with hers, but she stopped herself. 

He continued several paces ahead of her before turning around to cock his head at her.

“Do try to keep up,” he teased.

Emma snorted and resumed her hike.

They both seemed more conscious of their touching after that.  Neither Emma nor Hook hesitated to offer his or her hand when the other needed it, but they didn’t maintain the contact afterwards.   

Emma still didn’t know what to make of it. 

As they drew closer to the Dark Hollow, Emma and Hook had to come down from the ridge and trek through the mud again.  When they were quite near their destination, they came to an area where there had clearly been a flash flood.  The way was so thickly mudded that Emma simply couldn’t cross it in her stolen boots.  They were too short (only ankle-length) and too large for her, so the mud was sucking them off her feet with each step she took. 

“We’ll have to backtrack,” Emma said in frustration, looking around to see that the mud stretched out for a dozen yards or so ahead of them and as far as she could see into the jungle in either direction.

“Or I could carry you,” Hook offered tentatively.

Emma’s eyes widened at the idea.

“My weight would just make you sink further,” she said, trying to be reasonable.

“I think not,” he said.  “It feels to me like I’ve hit the rock beneath the mud under my own weight.”

Emma chewed her lip.

“It would be much faster than tracing back to find another way,” he said.  “We don’t know how long this wash is.”

Emma nodded, unable to argue.

“All right,” she said, approaching him.

He grinned devilishly before ducking suddenly to sweep her legs out from under her.  She instinctively put her arms around his neck.  He held her tight, his hand gripping her hip, his left arm under her knees.  She pressed her face into the collar of his coat, breathing in his scent and closing her eyes.  She sighed, relaxing against him, enjoying the sensation of being held.

And then she realized he hadn’t moved yet.

Emma opened her eyes and noticed that Hook’s were closed.  His cheek looked flushed. 

“Are you stuck?” she asked, wondering if he was too proud to admit this idea wasn’t going to work.

His eyes popped open, and he gave her a sheepish little grin.

“We can still try to backtrack,” she said, squirming a little, trying to get down.

“No, no,” he said a little breathily, gripping her tighter. 

Hook took a step forward, his foot making a squelching noise as he withdrew it from, and then thrust it back into, the mud.  He moved forward slowly, carefully, taking his time in finding his footing.  He had to tug on his feet, occasionally jerking sharply to free his boot.  It took several minutes to cross the relatively short distance.  Hook’s breathing grew ragged, and Emma was certain that the task was exhausting.  She held to him tightly, trying to distribute her weight so it was easier for him. 

When they made it to the other side, Hook let Emma slide out of his arms and he leaned heavily against a tree.  The ground around them was still damp and muddy on the other side of the wash, so Emma rolled out her little mattress over an area of wet grass.

“Come sit down,” Emma said, beckoning Hook over. 

He gave her a small, almost apologetic smile, and Emma noticed that his legs were shaking.

Emma went to Hook, wedging herself under his arm and making him huff out a surprised breath.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders gratefully and leaned on her as she half-dragged him to the bed roll.  When he collapsed to the mat, he pulled her down with him.  They landed in a heap with Emma lying half across Hook’s chest.  Emma gave a little surprised squeak and Hook let out a breathy chuckle.

“Thank you, lass,” he said, reaching up to brush a lock of Emma’s hair behind her ear.

“Thank _you_ ,” she replied, her eyes wide and her cheeks turning pink. 

Emma started to pull away, but he slid his fingers behind her neck, cupping the back of her head lightly.  He sat up fluidly, wrapping his left arm around her as he drew her closer.  He pressed his forehead to hers, their noses side by side.  He was still breathing hard, and Emma found her own breath had sped up, too.

“Swan,” he whispered. 

His eyes were closed. 

“Yes?” she breathed back.

“I would very much like to kiss you,” he murmured, rubbing his nose against hers.

“Oh,” she said, feeling her pulse quicken.

She watched his lips twitch up into a grin.  He chuckled again, just barely audible.

“May I?” he asked, opening his eyes and drawing back just far enough to look at her properly.

Emma chewed on her lip.  She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded.  She leaned back into him and let her eyes flutter closed.

His lips brushed hers lightly, once, twice.  He groaned and then pressed his lips more firmly to hers, moving his mouth in delicious, tantalizing ways.  Emma accepted the kiss, unsure how to properly respond.  She moved her mouth a little, rubbing her lips against his.  She dimly realized she was making an appreciative humming noise. 

Hook pressed his forehead to hers again, breaking the kiss but keeping their noses touching.  He held there for a minute as they breathed each other’s breath.

“That was…” he whispered, letting the words hang.

Emma didn’t know what to say.

“Was that…” he started again, “had you never…?”

“Not like that,” Emma breathed, her eyes still closed.  She’d played kissing games with Neal when they’d been small, but they hadn’t continued the activity into her teen years.

Hook groaned, the sound coming from deep in his throat.  Emma thought he might kiss her again, but he didn’t.  He pulled back slowly, opening his eyes to smile at her warmly before his lips twitched into an amused smirk, but the expression didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I trust it was satisfactory?” he teased, but again it seemed somehow forced.

She couldn’t fight her small smile.  She nodded, biting her lip.

He looked like he was going to say something more, but he seemed to change his mind. 

“How are your legs?” she asked, looking at him through her lashes. 

“Much improved,” he said, flexing his feet.  She could feel the muscle in his thigh jump as he moved, because her hip was pressed against it.  “I should test them.”

She helped him to his feet and he took a few experimental steps with Emma shadowing him.  He favored his right leg slightly and looked a little stiff, but otherwise he seemed fine. 

“Let me stretch them a bit,” he said.  He sounded a little off.  “I’ll go collect some firewood.” 

“I’ll go with you,” she offered.

“No, no,” he said quickly.  “No need.  Perhaps you could look around here for some dry kindling?”

“A-all right,” she stammered, brow crinkling.  She wondered if she’d done something wrong.

“I’ll be right back,” he said with an open expression, and Emma believed he was telling the truth. 

She nodded and he disappeared into the jungle.

* * *

She was going to be the death of him.

How had he, Killian Jones, lieutenant of the royal navy-turned-pirate captain, become besotted with a princess-turned-lost girl?  How had he set aside his quest to best Pan for a pair of gray-green eyes? 

Killina was acting the fool, and he knew his brother would chide him if he could see him now. 

“Bad form, Leftenant,” he muttered to himself as he marched deeper into the jungle.  Thoughts of Liam always darkened his mood. 

Killian had sworn to take vengeance on the demon-boy who’d let his brother die.  It had taken him years to find a magic bean to bring him back to Neverland.  But after the greater part of a century spent on the damnable island, Killian was no closer to finding a weakness in Pan than the day he’d first arrived.  So, if killing the lord of Neverland was a fool’s errand, was it not better to take the hero’s journey presented to him in the rescue of a princess?  Wouldn’t that be the proper choice? 

And what of the princess herself?  Killian didn’t even know the girl’s _name_ , and he was smitten.  He felt as though he were back in grammar school, when he’d plucked flowers and written sonnets for a pretty little dark-haired lass called Milah.  He remembered the way his heart had soared when she’d stolen a kiss from him behind the oak tree near her father’s house.  She’d laughed and run away after kissing him, and he’d sat there, stunned and blissful until he’d heard Liam calling for him. 

Of course, that had all been before Killian’s world had turned sideways and he and Liam had been thrust into a life of chaos and pain.  He’d heard someone say something once about “sins of the father,” and it seemed to ring true to Killian.

What a long way he’d come from the boy he’d been, and yet he was still felt like that little boy some days. 

Right now, he was painfully aware of the fact that he was a man.  It seemed to be a recurring problem around the Swan girl.  She affected him very strongly, but he felt like it was something more than just physical desire—And that scared him. 

And she was a _princess_!  He didn’t stand a chance.  No sailor—let alone a _pirate_ —would be allowed to court an heir to the throne. 

Killian stopped walking, his throat going dry. 

_Court_ her.  Is that..?  Did he..? 

He stood alone in the jungle, gaping like a fish as the gears in his head turned around that question.

Aye, he decided finally, if it was within his capability, he would do just that:  He’d pluck flowers and write sonnets as he’d done as a boy and he’d leave them gladly at the feet of this enigma of a girl.

_Girl_ , he thought, shaking his head.  She was just a lass, barely old enough for her first ball before she’d been swept away to Neverland, island of nightmares.  She’d never even been _kissed_ before!  She’d probably only just begun being called on by potential suitors.  He imagined her walking arm in arm with some stuffed-shirt prince with diamonds in his pockets, a gaggle of chaperones trailing behind as the crook-nosed royal declared all the things he’d buy for the beautiful princess. 

“How ‘bout that,” Killian muttered darkly to himself.  He had no future or family tree.

With a sigh, he looked around for suitable fire wood, trying to at least attempt to do what he’d told Swan he’d entered the jungle to do.  What he’d really done was fled ( _like a coward_ , he told himself, _very bad form_ ) to cool down after the intensity of the kiss they’d shared.  Objectively, it had been such a soft, simple kiss, and yet what the kiss exposed to Killian was far from simple. 

He was bewitched. 

The Swan girl called to him like a siren, and he could feel the pull in his very bones.  He knew he’d follow her the rest of her days if he were allowed. 

For decades, he’d served no man but himself, but that was done in an instant.  Killian had already sworn his allegiance to her in his heart.  He was no longer his own man.  

He was hers. 


	7. Chapter 7

 - Elsewhere -

Snow White woke up with the strangest feeling of déjà vu.  Her eyes were burning, as though she’d spent the night crying. 

How odd.

The sheets next to her were cool, indicating that David had already risen, so she got up, too. 

She rang for her maid, reaching up to grasp the bell-pull.  The gesture hurt, as if her hand were injured.  Confused, she examined her hands.  A few of her nails were torn and her knuckles were painted with fresh bruises and abrasions.  Her right hand was swollen, and she thought there might be a broken bone there.

Snow White had no idea where the injuries had come from.  She hadn’t been in a fist fight in nearly two decades. 

It was the morning of Emma’s sixteenth birthday.  There was a ball scheduled that evening.  Snow’s brow crinkled as she tried to figure out what was going on.  She was still staring at her hands when her maid, Anna, came in. 

“Good morning, your majesty,” Anna said, dipping her blonde head as she curtseyed. 

“Good morning,” Snow mumbled distractedly.  “Anna, have you noticed anything strange this morning?”

Anna quietly wrung her hands for a moment before speaking.

“Actually, your majesty, I have had an odd feeling all morning.  It’s like today has happened before,” she said.  “But that’s impossible.”

“I have the same feeling,” Snow said, meeting Anna’s eyes.

“Maybe it’s just that we’ve been dreaming of it, ma’am,” Anna said.  “Princess Emma’s birthday, the ball?”

Anna sounded almost like she was trying to convince herself, but Snow White nodded at the words.  That would explain her feeling of familiarity, but not the state of her knuckles.

Anna tended to Snow’s wounded hand and got the queen coifed and dressed for her day.  The maid had just set the crown on Snow’s head when the door to the chamber burst opened unceremoniously. 

King David strode in, his face a mask of determination and muted anger.  Carson, the butler, and Emma’s red-headed maid was right on his heels.

“Have you seen Emma this morning?” David asked Snow, making Snow’s jaw drop.

Snow looked back and forth between her husband and the concerned castle staff, a feeling of dread sinking into her bones.

“No,” Snow White whispered, a protest rather than an answer to her husband’s question.  The word was full of pain as memories slowly coalesced in her mind.  She _had_ lived this day before, she was certain of it. 

Looking at her hand again, Snow remembered her fist slamming into the stone wall the day before.  She’d been trying to hit Regina, but the witch had evaporated in a cloud of smoke and mocking laughter before the blow landed.

“Regina!” Snow screamed, her voice full of rage.  Her hands curled into fists.  Her right hand protested, but she ignored the pain.

“Well, that’s a new record,” said the condescending voice from behind her.

Snow spun around, her eyes automatically searching for a weapon and her opponent.

Regina was gliding toward her from the balcony, her face twisted into an evil grin.   

“You’ve never figured it out before breakfast before,” Regina continued.

“Where is my daughter?” Snow demanded.  As the words left her lips, she quite suddenly saw and heard herself saying those words before, over and over again.  Hundreds of times in different ways:  Angry, sad, pleading, demanding, defeated, eager, weary, afraid, and hopeful.  She had said the words while crying on her knees, with a knife to Regina’s throat, running through the castle halls, restrained with a noose around her neck, searching in the forest, standing on the edge of her balcony poised to jump, lying broken in the dungeon, riding hard across a grassy field, and cradling her husband’s limp body. 

“Of course, you do tend to work it out sooner when you have scars,” Regina said as if Snow hadn’t spoken.  She gestured toward Snow’s hands and the wounds disappeared.  “I’m sure it will take you longer, tomorrow.”

“Where is Emma?” Snow screamed, throwing herself at her step-mother. 

Regina disappeared in a puff of smoke, reappearing on the other side of the room.

“What did you do, Regina?” David said, low and menacing. 

Regina smiled wider, her eyes flicking to the king and then back to Snow White.

“Today,” she said, “I think I won’t tell you.”

Regina vanished in another puff of smoke.

Snow screamed her step-mother’s name several more times.  Then she collapsed to her knees and screamed her daughter’s name.  She yelled until her throat was raw and her voice was just a hoarse whisper. 

David came to her and put his arms around his wife.  He held her as she raged and cried, rocking her softly, but saying nothing.  When Snow White had exhausted herself, he carried her to their mattress.

She laid in bed the rest of the day, staring at the ceiling.  She took no food and made no response to anyone who spoke to her. 

David organized a search party, but they found no trace of the missing princess.  That evening, the blue fairy revealed to the royal couple that they were suffering from a curse, but Snow didn’t react to the words.  She laid limply, even when David climbed into the bed beside her and drew her to him, trying to give her any comfort he could. 

She didn’t want to sleep.  Snow White had had her fill of sleeping, but she could not fight the exhaustion (or the magic, not that she cared) when it fell over her at midnight.  David had been whispering to her and stroking her hair.  Suddenly, he was snoring lightly and Snow felt sleep claiming her.  She tried to fight, but her limbs were too heavy and weak.  Her eyelids drifted closed against her will and her body sagged into a deep, magical slumber.

* * *

Snow White woke up with the strangest feeling of déjà vu.  Her throat was raw, as though she’d been screaming the day before. 

How odd.


	8. Chapter 8

Emma was used to being alone.  It had bothered her when Hook limped off into the jungle, but she was able to shove the pain down and bury it deep.  The kiss had clearly been a one-time thing.  She’d disappointed him somehow, and it wouldn’t happen again.  She wasn’t going to dwell on it.

Well, she was going to try not to dwell on it.

She gave herself a shake and got up to begin looking for kindling.  It didn’t take her long to find some dead coconuts with dried-out husks.  The outer layers were damp from the rain, but she ripped the husks apart and found dry strands between the outer skin and the shell.  She collected a good amount of the kindling, knowing that the wood they’d burn would most likely be damp. 

She knew that Hook had a flint, but she couldn’t pass up the curved piece of wood she found beneath a pile of coconut husks.  It would be an excellent fire board.  She found a good stick for the spindle and fitted the pair together, spinning the spindle with her hands.  Yes, these would be perfect.

The bow was even easier to find, since young, damp branches bent so easily.  All that was left was the string.

She looked through her bag, but she hadn’t packed any of her carefully braided homespun.  The only thing she had that was suitable was the lacing from her corset. 

Emma chewed on her lip as she looked at the lacing, one end tied through the holes of the coconut shadow trap.  The lace was far longer than was needed to tie up the coconut, but she felt conflicted about cutting it.  She ran the laces through her fingers for several minutes before making up her mind.  Sentimentality was weakness. 

She pulled the cutlass Hook had given her out of its scabbard just far enough to split the lacing.  The cord came apart cleanly and quickly on the razor edge of the blade.  Emma thrust the sword back into its sheath and went about tying the fire bow.

When Emma finished her fire-starter, Hook still hadn’t returned and the sun was beginning to set, so she dug a pit for the fire and found some small branches that would dry out quickly.  She laid the branches out with some kindling and squatted nearby with the bow.  She arranged a ball of kindling on the groove in the fire board and fit the spindle into it, pinning the kindling in place.  She capped the spindle with another curved piece of wood so that the spindle wouldn’t burn her palm as she held it down.  She took the bow up in her right hand and began sawing back and forth, spinning the spindle in the groove.   

She was surprised when a droplet of water landed on the back of her hand.  She looked up, but realized quickly that the drip had come from her own eye.  She sniffled, admonishing herself for being childish, and sawed harder on the bow.  She was rewarded with a tendril of smoke.  She drilled the kindling harder, watching for the spark of an ember. 

When the fire caught, she dropped the bow and gently blew on the kindling, fanning the flames.  The fire spread willingly, engulfing the ball of coconut husk.  Emma grinned.  No matter how many times she’d started a fire this that manner, it still gave her a little thrill of accomplishment.  She straightened her shoulders and gently transferred the little ball of fire to the pit she’d dug, setting it lightly under the thin branches near some more coconut husk.

Leaning back on her heels, Emma watched the fire grow with a satisfied smile.  The fire crackled merrily, little wisps of steam rising occasionally as the heat destroyed the wetness in the wood.

A snapping branch made Emma jerk her head up, and she saw Hook reenter the clearing with an armload of wood.  His presence made her stomach flip.  She was glad to see him—gladder than she thought was prudent, but she also felt a stab of despair in her heart:  He’d fled.  She was a disappointment.  Nobody wanted her.

“I see you’ve been busy,” he said with an easy smile.  He was back to normal.  The panic she’d seen in his eyes before he’d left was gone.

“I’m not good at waiting to have things done for me,” she said coolly, trying to remain in control of her chaotic emotions. 

“Isn’t that what princesses do?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.  “Weren’t you waited on hand and foot before?”

“That was a long time ago,” she said harder than she meant to.  She hadn’t quite snapped at him, not really, but he rocked back as if he had been struck.

“Aye, that it was, lass,” he said in a mollifying tone.  “But you’ll soon be returned to it.  It could be quite nice after…”

He let the words trail off.

“Anything is better than Neverland,” she sighed.

Hook frowned but made no reply.  He stepped forward and knelt on the other side of the camp fire, adding logs and arranging them in a neat pile.  Steam hissed out of some of them as the wood dried and charred. 

The sun had fully set by then, and Emma felt uncomfortably aware of how alone she was with the pirate.  She fidgeted a little bit, noticing that he was watching her with a strange expression.  His face was smooth, free of emotion, but his eyes were intense and stormy. 

“Swan—” he started with a soft touch of hesitation in his voice.

“We should take watches,” she said at the same time, talking over him.  “We should each try to get some rest before dawn.”

His face tightened for a second before smoothing again.

“Of course,” he replied with a little bow of his head.  “I’ll take the first watch.”

Emma nodded and stood up, walking over to where her bed roll was already spread out.

“Wake me before midnight,” she said over her shoulder as she curled up with her back to him.

* * *

Killian frowned into the fire.  Something had changed.  While he’d run off like a coward, he’d left the lost girl alone.  He should have known better than that.  Swan had put her walls back up.  She was upset, and he was frustrated that he couldn’t quite read what it was that upset her. 

He could only assume that she’d realized that she’d soon be home, a princess once more, and the idea of a dalliance with a black-hearted pirate had given her pause for regret. 

_Coward.  Pirate.  Bad form._

He’d buggered it up again, as he had with the tea.  As he had with so many other things in his life.  Everything he touched ended up crumbling through his fingers. 

He was beyond redemption.

He sighed, looking up to see the twinkle of stars beyond the jungle canopy.

He was beyond redemption, but he was still an honorable man.  He could still do right by her.  Return her to her kingdom, get her safely into the hands of her parents.  Then he could go back to his ship.

And do what?

His vengeance against Pan would never be fulfilled.  He couldn’t win the princess.  He had no future.  All he could do was get Swan back to her home and hope that there was some place for him there.  Maybe her father would prove to be an honorable king, a king worth serving.  He could see himself turning privateer—never navy again—for an honorable king.  His men would take to that, he knew.  They were good lads, mostly. 

Aye, Kilian thought, he could serve her in that way:  serve her family.  He could put the skills he had at her disposal and take some small degree of satisfaction in it.

It would have to be enough.

* * *

Hook woke Emma at midnight, shaking her shoulder lightly.  He withdrew his hand as soon as she stirred.  She blinked up at him, smiling at his pretty blue eyes.  He gave her a tight smile in return and drew back so she could sit up. 

She did so, stretching.  She stood up slowly, arching and rolling her back and shoulders.  She looked around the clearing.  Hook had tended the fire, and it burned steadily, lighting the whole gap between the trees.  The pile of extra wood was smaller.

“Thank you,” she said, meeting his eyes again. 

He nodded and took her place on the bed roll, doffing his coat and hook but keeping his boots on.

“Please wake me an hour before dawn,” he said formally before rolling to face the trees as she had done.

“I will,” Emma replied in the same tone, moving to poke the fire.

Her watch passed uneventfully.  She drew patterns in the mud with a stick to pass the time.  She refused to think about the man lying just a couple yards away.  He occasionally sighed in his sleep or mumbled incoherently.  The sound kept catching her off guard. 

When she finally woke him, shaking his shoulder gently as he had done for her, he rolled on to his back and smiled up at her sleepily.

“Swan,” he mumbled, his face relaxed into a warm expression.  He reached for her, making her eyes widen in surprise.  The face she made seemed to snap him awake, and he withdrew his hand quickly, mumbling something about dreams as he turned away and clicked his hook into place. 

When he stood up, he was cool and composed again.  He put on his coat and gave her a little closed-lip smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Ready?” he asked quietly.

Emma nodded.

Hook buried the fire while Emma rolled up her little mattress and strapped it to her satchel. 

“I’ll take the trap,” Hook said, holding his hand out for it.  “My flint is far faster than your bow-drill.”

He’d seen her, she realized, her spine stiffening.  He’d been watching her while she’d started the fire.  He’d snapped a twig on purpose to announce his presence.

She handed over the coconut without a word.

They hiked the rest of the way to the Dark Hollow in silence, keeping a polite distance from one another.  When they arrived at the mouth of the cave, Hook held up a finger to his lips, cautioning Emma to be quiet.  She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, since she hadn’t said a word since they’d left the clearing. 

They crept into the dark cave silently, listening for movement from within.  They were taken by surprise when the shadow struck from behind.

It whipped at Emma, knocking her to the ground. 

Her breath came out in a huff when she landed, and she scrambled quickly to her feet. 

“Swan!” she heard Hook yell in a panicked voice.

She turned to find the shadow had him pinned to the wall and was ripping his shadow from him.

“Hook!” Emma screamed, drawing her sword.  She knew it would be useless against the shadow, but she had to do something. 

She had to find the flint. 

She spotted it on ground near the coconut, and she dove for it.  The shadow swatted at her, but she dodged.  She rolled into a seated position and tried to light a spark with the flint and her sword, but the blade was too large and awkward, she couldn’t direct the spark the way she needed.

“Swan,” Hook yelled again, “ _run_!” 

_Not hardly_ , she thought, trying again to strike a spark.

She heard a thud and looked up just in time to see that the shadow drop Hook and turn to come for her.  It knocked the sword from her hand and threw her across the cave.  She landed bad, her head cracking painfully against the floor.  Dizzy, she tried to sit up.  She was relieved to see she’d somehow managed to hold on to the coconut.

The shade took hold of Hook again, pinning him to a pillar of rock and yanking at his shadow. 

Emma was dizzy, her vision was swimming, and she had no idea where the flint was.  All she had was a coconut and a desperate desire to save the blue-eyed man across the cave. 

She _needed_ the candle lit.  There was no choice; there were no options.

So she lit it.

Emma made an instinctive hand gesture:  a flick of the wrist as she closed her hand.  She felt the power course through her, sweet and warm.   Her eyes closed and then the candle was lit and the shadow was sucked into it.  She shut the coconut with a quick snap and wrapped the lace around it.  She could feel the shadow’s anger making the coconut vibrate.

Emma set the coconut down carefully before crossing the cave to where Hook had fallen.  He was lying against the pillar and breathing hard.  There was a sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Thank you, Swan,” he gasped as she helped him to his feet. 

Hook took a few minutes to catch his breath.  Emma went and retrieved the coconut, ensuring the laces were tied tight.

“How did you manage to light it?” Hook asked tentatively as he picked up his flint from where it had landed across the room from Emma.  Emma picked up the sword he’d given her.

Emma kept silent as she wiped the dust from the blade on the hem of her cloak before re-sheathing the cutlass.

“Magic?” Hook said very quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Emma blurted, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

Hook reeled back a step, surprised.

“Sorry?  It was brilliant, love,” he said appreciatively.  “Would have been nice to know you could do that going in, but I’m not complaining.”

“You’re not angry?” she said in a huff of relieved breath.

“Angry..?” he said incredulously.  “With you?  For saving my life?  Darling, why would I be angry?”

“Magic always comes with a price,” she intoned.

“That may well be,” Hook said, brushing himself off, “but the price wasn’t our lives, so that seems bloody well worth it to me.”

Emma chewed her lip and thought about that. 

“Come, lass,” he said, reaching his hand toward her and crooking his fingers in invitation, “let’s be out in the sunlight while we wait instead of in his dark pit.”

Emma took his offered hand and they walked out of the cave together. 

“Now, I’ll wager,” Hook said when they got back to the clearing near the cave, “that you have something hidden in your bag that we could eat.  What say you fetch that out and we have ourselves some breakfast?”

Emma couldn’t help but grin at that.  She handed Hook the shadow trap and rummaged in her bag for dried trail rations.  They ate without much conversation. 

Two hours passed in a tense and awkward sort of silence.  Emma and Hook’s eyed flickered frequently to each other and to the coconut containing the shadow.  But beyond some minor shaking, the trap seemed to hold.  During the second hour, Hook began pacing the clearing.  It made Emma uncomfortable.  She spent the time scratching patterns into the recently-dried mud. 

“Let’s go,” Hook said abruptly, pulling Emma out of her reverie.  She looked up to find him standing over her, quite near, looking anxious. 

Emma looked at the sky, but the angle of the sun didn’t seem to indicate it was late enough.  She raised her eyebrow at Hook.

“It’s not getting out,” he said, tapping the coconut with the toe of his boot.  “And I’d rather wait on my ship.  Then we can get the hell out of here the moment Tinkerbell arrives with the pixie dust.”

Emma couldn’t really argue with that, so she nodded and stood up, brushing the dirt from her hands and clothes.  Hook picked up her satchel, which made Emma frown, but she did feel oddly tired—maybe it was the use of magic?—so she let it go without comment.

Hook set a quick pace, hiking hard through the jungle.  Emma was able to keep up, but just barely.   When they broke through to the beach, Emma saw the ship again, majestic and beautiful, anchored in the bay. 

On the beach, Hook put two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle consisting of a low tone, a high tone, and then the low tone again.  Emma had heard the sound before, when she was allowed to visit the docks.  She’d always seen the sailor making the call using a boatswain’s pipe, however.  Hook didn’t need a pipe for volume.  His whistle was quite loud without it.   

Several heads on the ship turned to look.  A couple of men waved.  One man in a red hat started yelling at the other men and a row boat was soon lowered over the side of the ship.  The man in the red hat rowed the boat to the shore. 

When the sailor arrived at the beach, Hook helped him out of the boat.  He clapped the man on the back with a smile.

“Ah, Smee, may I introduce the Lady Swan, who will be our guest of honor on our next journey,” Hook said to the sailor.  Smee doffed his hat and gave Emma a little shrug of a bow.

“M’lady,” Smee said.

Emma dipped reflexively into a curtsey.

Hook turned to face Emma.

“And Swan, this is my first mate, Mr. Smee,” he said with a tightness in his voice Emma hadn't heard before.

Emma and Smee made polite faces at each other. 

“Tinkerbell will be joining us shortly, Smee," Hook continued in the clipped, almost cocky tone.  "See that she’s brought on board— _politely_.  She will also be our guest.”

Smee looked surprised.

“A-aye, cap’n,” he stammered.

“I’ll send Turner back out with the launch to keep you company,” Hook said almost casually.

“Cap’n?” Smee said, confused.

“I’m going to take Miss Swan aboard,” Hook said slowly, enunciating clearly.  “Stay here and keep an eye out for the pixie.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Smee said.  He still looked a little startled, but he had been given a direct order and didn’t seem the kind to disobey (openly, at least).

Hook gave Swan a devilish smile and a wink, and then he swept her off her feet, eliciting a startled gasp.  Emma grabbed Hook’s shoulders as he chuckled and carried her over to the row boat.  He deposited her in the little skiff and climbed in after. 

Mr. Smee watched the captain and the Emma with unveiled curiosity.  At his captain’s request, he helped launch the boat.  Hook took up an oar, ignoring the second one, and began paddling them out to the ship, alternating strikes of the oar on each side of the small craft.

“I could help row,” Emma murmured after a moment, raising an eyebrow.

“And what example would that be setting, love, having the ‘guest of honor’ rowing the captain to his ship?” he said quietly, his voice not matching his cocky expression.  She realized he was acting for the crew.  “But the _captain_ rowing for a guest?  That proves her status far better than words could do.”

Emma nodded.  She remembered lessons with her tutor back in the Enchanted Forest about behaving at court.  She’d never really cared about the angle at which one held a fan or how who spoke to whom first indicated status.  This seemed to be much the same.

“It’s a game,” she said.

“In a way,” he replied, giving her a smile.  “My men are loyal, but they still expect me to play my part.”

“And portraying me as the guest of honor will help them mind their manners,” she said, making it a statement, but raising her eyebrows to request confirmation.

“You _are_ the guest of honor, Swan, and they _will_ mind their manners,” he replied, meeting her eyes with a sincere, serious expression.  “I trust my men, but I also plan on not letting you out of my sight for a moment.”

“And how long with the voyage be?” Swan asked.

“Two days at most,” he said, “depending on which kingdom you are from.  And I’m afraid you may have to give me a genealogy lesson once we’re aboard.  I highly doubt the kingdoms are all ruled by the same monarchs who reigned when I was there last.”

Emma nodded again.  He’d said both that he’d been in Neverland more than fifty years and that he was nearly a century in age.  To Emma’s eyes, he looked no more than twenty.

She saw a flicker of doubt cross his face before he resumed his mask of confidence for the onlookers.

“Time spent in Neverland doesn’t always coincide precisely with time spent elsewhere,” he said very softly.  “Your five years here might be ten years in the Enchanted Forest, or only three.  We won’t know until we arrive.”

Emma swallowed hard, thinking about that.  The dark-haired witch who’d sent her to Neverland had told her that nothing would change while she was away.  Did that mean no time had passed for her family?  She started chewing her lip.

“Don’t do that, love,” Hook murmured, his eyes on her lips.  “Give us a big smile, or at least try to look bored.  Don’t let the crew know you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” she said in a huff.

He raised his eyebrows incredulously at her but said nothing.

Emma tried to make her face look serene, channeling the lessons her etiquette tutor had given her.  Hook didn’t say anything else before they arrived at the ship.  Once there, he smoothly entered ‘captain mode’ and whipped the crew into action.  He sent a young man named Turner back to the beach in the skiff, yelled at a couple of crew members about miscellaneous details of the ship’s care, and otherwise _took over_. 

Emma was impressed.  Hook was clearly in his element on the ship.  In a matter of moments, the deck was abuzz with action as sailors rushed to tend to the items Hook had pointed out. 

The way Hook stood steady and unyielding with the deck swaying beneath him took Emma’s breath away.  He looked almost regal.

His eyes found hers and he read her expression of awe.  He winked at her.

She rolled her eyes as he approached her.  He was grinning.  He held his hand out to her, and she took it with a raised eyebrow.  He bowed over her fingers elaborately.

“Please allow me to show you to your quarters, my lady,” he said loud enough for the nearby crew to hear. 

He was laying it on thick.

Emma let him lead her through the ship to a well-appointed cabin.  Looking around at the table covered in maps and instruments and the size of the bed—which was quite large for a ship bunk—Emma realized whose cabin it was.

“These are the _captain’s_ quarters,” she accused, turning to frown up at him.

“Aye,” he said, setting down her satchel, “but they are _your_ quarters for duration of our journey.  I’ll board in the first mate’s cabin.”

“No,” Emma exclaimed, making Hook raise an eyebrow in surprise.  “I won’t take your cabin from you.”

Surprise flickered across Hook’s face.

“Swan…” he choked out, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“There’s plenty of space in here,” Emma said quickly.  “I can roll out my mat—”

“You will not,” he interrupted. 

“I won’t steal your bed,” she protested.

“I give it freely,” he said, his voice rising slightly.

“I’m fine on the floor,” she gritted back at him.

“Then I will sleep on the floor as well,” he declared, giving her a stubborn, challenging look.

“That’s ridiculous, Hook,” she admonished.  “There is no reason for both of us to—”

“Which is precisely why you will sleep in my be— _the_ bed,” he corrected quickly.

She frowned at him, chewing her lip.

“My ship, my rules,” he quipped.

She rolled her eyes at that.

“Fine,” she sighed.

Hook smiled a victorious smile.  He sauntered toward her and opened his mouth to say something more, but a knock on the cabin door made him and Emma both turn.

“Cap’n?” came a muffled voice from beyond the door.

“Aye?” Hook called with a trace of annoyance in his voice.  He crossed the room and opened the door. 

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but the pixie’s arrived,” said a dark-haired man with a pock-scarred face.

“Excellent,” Hook said, turning to give Emma a little grin.  He bowed elaborately to her from the doorway.  “Prepare yourself for departure, my lady.  We should be underway very soon.”

He spun dramatically, his coat tails flicking out, and left, letting the door close behind him.

Thirty seconds later, Emma slid bonelessly to the floor in exhaustion.  She was tentatively excited about going home, but a part of her was sure that there would be some catastrophe to keep them from leaving Neverland.  She thought briefly about going back on deck to watch the tragedy unfold, but decided against it.  Hidden in the cabin, she could curl up into a ball without worrying about appearances.  She wrapped her arms around her knees and rolled her shoulders forward, hunching into as compact a shape as she could.  She closed her eyes.

She could feel the slight pull on the starboard side of the ship when the crew drew the skiff out of the water.  She could hear muffled voices through the doors and walls of the ship.  She recognized Hook’s voice every time he spoke, but the other voices were a jumble. 

She clearly heard Hook’s command to “weigh anchor,” and felt the subtle change in the ship when the command was obeyed.  Then they were moving.  Emma took a deep breath and held it, waiting for the bottom to drop out from this plan.  Pan would come.  The shadow would come.  She’d wake up. 

And suddenly, the steady motion of the sea fell away and the ship was vibrating lightly with the hum of magic.  Emma could _feel_ it emanating from the walls of the ship.  The ship was moving, forward, and _fast_ , but it was no longer in the water.

She was on her feet in an instant, pressing her face to the window pane without remembering the steps she must have taken across the room.  Her mouth fell open as she saw the ocean below her, a perfectly smooth blue mirror, reflecting the bottom of the flying ship.

Emma left the cabin, running to the deck.  She was suddenly eager to see the island shrinking below her.

She slammed headlong into a black leather-clad pirate captain.

“Whoa, easy, love,” Hook murmured, wrapping his arms around her.  She grabbed the lapels of his coat to steady herself.  “I was coming to fetch you.  I thought you might wish to say goodbye to Neverland.”

She nodded, staring into his eyes and not letting go of him. 

He didn’t let go of her either.

“At the rate we’re flying, it will only be visible for a matter of minutes,” he said, his voice a little lower.  He ducked his head ever so slightly toward hers and licked his lips.

Emma’s gaze flickered to his mouth for a second, her eyelashes fluttering. 

“If you’d rather stay here…” he began, leaning in closer.  Emma let her eyes close.

“Is she all right?” Tinkerbell said anxiously from behind Hook.  “Swan?”

Emma thought she heard Hook make a small, frustrated noise before he released her and stepped back.  The lapels of his jacket slid smoothly from her fingers.

“Swan?” the pixie said again.  “You look a little flushed.  Do you feel well?”

Tinkerbell stepped forward to examine Emma.  She looked back and forth between Emma and Hook, a smirk creeping across her face.  She let out a little chuckle. 

The fairy grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her out on to the deck of the ship.

“You don’t want to miss this,” she said.

Emma let Tinkerbell lead her to the railing.  When she looked down, she was surprised at how small the island already was.  It grew smaller and more distant as she watched.  Emma stared, unblinking, until Neverland was just a speck on the horizon.  She continued to watch until it was concealed by clouds as the ship climbed higher in the sky. 

A few moments later, Tinkerbell’s body relaxed beside her and the fairy let out a contented sigh.  Tinkerbell squeezed Emma’s hand.  Emma looked at her with curiosity.

“It’s over,” the fairy said with wonder in her voice.  “We just crossed the border of the realm.  We’re free.  We’ve made it out of Neverland.”

Emma crinkled her brow.  She certainly didn’t feel any different.  Emma was still weary, tired, and nervous, but the pixie looked relieved. 

Tinkerbell patted her hand. 

“You should rest,” the fairy said, lifting Emma’s hand and patting it gently.  “We’re safe now.”

Emma nodded dumbly.  Tinkerbell released her and gave her a gentle shove in the direction of Hook’s cabin.  Emma shuffled that way, her head reeling. 

Could it really be that easy?

“So, where exactly are we headed?” Emma heard Tinkerbell ask.

“The Enchanted Forest,” Hook answered easily.  Emma glanced over her shoulder to see Hook making a measurement with a golden contraption—a sextant, she thought.  “I won’t be able to set a proper course until after sunset, but I can get us well clear of that blasted island.” 

“Where in the Enchanted Forest?” Tinkerbell asked.

“Where should you like to go?” Hook replied, evading her question.

“Where are you taking Swan?” Tinkerbell countered.

“That’s her business,” Hook said coolly. 

“I’m just curious,” the fairy said a little huffily.  “I’ll go where she’s going, I guess.  I haven’t really got a destination in mind.  I’m just glad to be away from Neverland.”

“Aye,” Hook said.  “Shall I show you to your cabin?”

“Whose cabin is it normally?” Tinkerbell asked in a dry voice.

“Mr. Smee,” Hook replied, “my first mate.”

Hook and Tinkerbell’s voices were becoming fainter as she got farther away from them.

“Don’t do that,” Tink admonished.  “I’m good with a hammock in the hold.  Leave Smee in his quarters.”

“Are you sure, Lady Bell?” Hook asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes,” she said with a ghost of a laugh.  “I can handle your crew.  Don’t worry about me.”

Emma was at the door to Hook’s cabin, then, and she didn’t have any excuse for continuing to eavesdrop, so she entered the cabin and closed the door behind her.

She stumbled toward the bed, untying her cloak as she went.  She kicked off her boots, letting them lie where they fell.  She touched the cream-colored sheets tentatively, running the smooth fabric between her fingers.  She let out a little sigh as she climbed into the bunk, feeling a real mattress beneath her for the first time in over half a decade. 

The bed smelled amazing.

The aroma was a mix of salty sea, leather, rum, and something that was uniquely masculine.  Emma wrapped her arms around a pillow, burying her face in it and inhaling deeply.  She felt some of the tension in her shoulders loosen as she shimmied into a comfortable position.

She was still nervous, even after hearing Tinkerbell’s reassurances, but she was also exhausted. 

Emma was grateful when sleep claimed her.


	9. Chapter 9

Emma woke up screaming. 

Well, she would have been screaming, if she had her voice.  It seemed to be strangled in her throat.  The sound she was making was more of a gasping, keening sob.  She clasped both of her hands over her mouth to try to stop the noise, but she couldn’t stop the images in her head.  She kept her eyes shut tight, unwilling to find out if what she’d just seen was real.

“Swan?” said Hook from somewhere nearby.  His voice sounded drowsy but concerned.

Emma heard rustling, just barely audible over her pounding heart and the desperate sounds she couldn’t stop herself from making.  A tentative hand touched her shoulder.  When she didn’t flinch, an arm encircled her, the thin mattress shifting next to her as Hook sat down and pulled her into his arms.

“Swan,” Hook soothed, cradling her to his chest and stroking her hair.  “You’re safe.  It was just a nightmare.”

She shook her head violently, clutching his shirt.  A choking sob tore through her.  On the exhale, she made a thin, reedy cry, long and full of pain.

“Swan,” he said with pain in his own voice, clutching Emma to his chest and rocking her.  “A nightmare, Swan.  Whatever it was, it was just a dream.  You’re safe.  You’re going home.”

“I _went_ home!” she howled miserably, remembering her dream.  “It was too late!”

She pulled back far enough to open her eyes and look up at him.  The room was dark, which surprised her, but she could clearly see his blue eyes, clouded with concern.

“It was too late,” she whispered morosely, her eyes wide with fear.  “They were… Everyone…”

A tortured gasp escaped her again, and Hook pulled her once more against his chest.

Emma cried hot, ugly tears of pain for several minutes, soaking through the thin fabric of Hook’s shirt.   He held her tightly.  He stroked her hair, whispering soothing words and humming fragments of ancient lullabies. 

Eventually, her tears dried into sniffling, shaking breaths and her keening gave way to hiccups.  Hook continued to hold her until her heart had slowed to beat in time with the one she could hear in his chest, steady and slow behind thin linen and a dusting of tickly hair.

“Swan,” he said again, his voice raw with emotion.

“Emma,” she breathed.  She immediately bit her lip, flinching slightly at her correction. 

She felt his sharp intake of breath and his arms tightened around her.

“ _Emma_ ,” he said reverently, forming the name like a prayer.  The sound of her name on his lips made her relax just a little bit, glad she’d told him.

“It was just a dream, Emma,” he said, pulling back to look her in the eye.  He stroked her cheek tenderly.

His eyes were too blue.  They were too deep and open.  She thought she’d drown in them.  She chewed on her lip, turning her head to look away from him.  He let her, his fingers skating lightly across her skin as she moved. 

She looked around the room.  Starlight filtered in through the windows, casting long shadows beneath the carved beams and furniture.  Hook’s coat was hanging neatly from a peg near the door, his boots slouched lazily against each other on the floor below the coat. 

Emma frowned, not seeing any place where Hook could have been lying.  She was sure he’d been asleep before she’d had her panic attack.  She surveyed the room once more before looking down on instinct.  Her bedroll was laid out on the floor right next to the bed.  A pillow and a blanket had been added to the thin mattress, though they had been cast aside hastily. 

There were several other places that the mattress would have fit, but he’d chosen to locate it just below where she slept.  She wondered why.  Could it be affection?  Or maybe he was there to protect her—to guard her.

She let her eyes drift back to his.  He was watching her with an unreadable expression.

A little yawn bubbled up through her.  It surprised her, since she’d clearly slept most of the day.  Why was she so tired?

“You should rest,” he said softly, his voice warm and relaxing.

“Will you… stay?” she asked tentatively, looking at him through her lashes and feeling bashful.  His adam’s apple jumped and his eyes widened just a tiny bit. 

“Just… just until I fall asleep?” she whispered self-consciously.

“As you wish,” he murmured, cupping her cheek, “Emma.”

He shifted his position, rolling his legs up on to the bed and lying back, drawing her against his chest again.  She curled her fingers into the damp fabric of his shirt and snuggled into the crook of him arm. 

She knew that she’d feel differently about this in the morning, but right now she felt warm and safe.  Right now she didn’t need to worry about the morning.

She gave another little yawn and then a contented sigh, relaxing into Hook’s warm embrace. 

Her previous nightmares faded away, replaced by sweet, sweet dreams as Emma slept in the arms of the pirate captain.

* * *

Emma woke to sunlight and the sound of barely muffled voices.  She easily recognized Hook’s baritone, and the soprano voice had to belong to Tinkerbell.  It sounded as though Hook was trying to keep his voice down, but the fairy was getting quite loud.

“She’s _fine_ ,” Hook said as though he were speaking through clenched teeth.

“Then let me see her!” Tinkerbell replied.

“She’s resting, _Lady Bell_ ,” Hook growled, making her name sound like a threat.

“Swan!” the pixie called out.

“Quiet!” Hook hissed.  “If you wake her—”

Emma didn’t let him finish the threat.  She opened the door and stepped into the narrow hall.

“I’m awake,” Emma said, trying to make peace.  “What’s happening?”

“Everything is fine, E—Swan,” Hook said.  “Lady Bell was just asking after you.”

Tinkerbell pushed past Hook to peer into Emma’s face.

“Oh,” she said.  Her eyes went wide and then her face turned sheepish.  “You used magic.”

“I did…” Emma said warily.

“I should have noticed earlier,” Tinkerbell said apologetically.  “I’m sorry for interrupting your rest.  I thought…”

She trailed off, her eyes darting to Hook and then back to Emma.  Hook gave her an “I told you so” look.

“My apologies,” the fairy mumbled, taking a few steps back.

“Is that why I’m so tired?” Emma asked.  “Because I used magic?”

“Yes,” Tinkerbell said, nodding.  “You used magic without training.  I guess it really was your first time.”

“It was,” Emma confirmed.

“It can be exhausting,” Tink said gently.  “Make sure you eat, too.  You need to regain your strength.”

Emma nodded, feeling her stomach growl as if on cue.

“Would you be so kind as to bring Lady Swan something to eat?” Hook said.  His tone didn’t match the politeness of his words.  It sounded more like an order.  He was clearly upset with the pixie.

Tinkerbell ignored him and spoke directly to Emma.

“Why don’t you join us all below for lunch?” she said cheerfully.

Ugh, the crew.  Emma didn’t want to deal with a whole ship full of pirates.  She was quite content with just one.

“No, thank you,” Emma said.  “I’m not quite ready for that much excitement.”

Tinkerbell gave her an understanding smile. 

“Of course,” the pixie said.  “I’ll fetch you something.  Do you feel rested yet?  I knew a wilder once who slept for a week after her first use of magic.”

“Wilder?” Emma asked, curious.

“Someone who uses magic without being trained,” Tink explained.

Emma nodded.

“I’m no longer sleepy," she said, "but I still feel… Not sore, really, but…  I’m not sure how to describe it.”

“Drained,” the fairy supplied.

“Yes, that fits,” Emma said.

Tink nodded again.

“I’ll bring you some lunch,” the pixie said, patting Emma on the shoulder.

She turned and walked down the corridor to the stairs and descended below. 

“I’m sorry we disturbed you,” Hook said quietly, stepping close to Emma.  “She was quite insistent.”

“I don’t mind,” Emma said with a slight blush.

Hook took one of her hands in his, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. 

“Was your sleep less troubled, after..?” he murmured, his voice trailing away into an unformed question.

His eyes were dark and inviting.  His lips twisted up at one corner.

“Yes,” she whispered, “thank you.”

“If ever you wish to be held,” he murmured, leaning closer with each word, “you need but ask, _Emma_.”

He whispered her name directly into her ear, his lips brushing her skin.  A shiver shot through her and she let her eyes drift shut.  He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her.  He inhaled deeply, rubbing his nose along her cheekbone before he slowly pulled back.  She opened her eyes and found his half-closed, his lips curved into an enticing little smile.  He held there as if waiting for something.  After a half dozen heartbeats, he took another step back, his hand and hook slipping from her back to rest lightly on the crest of her hips.  He held that position for just a moment before releasing her completely.  Emma thought she might collapse, her knees were so weak.  She was breathing hard.

“Perhaps you should sit down, love,” Hook said warmly, with only the hint of a smirk. 

“Perhaps I should,” she tried to reply wryly, but her voice came out in a breathy whisper.

He smiled a true smile then and reached past her to open the door to the cabin.  He held it as she wobbled her way back into his quarters and sank into one of the chairs bolted to the floor near the table. 

Hook followed her in, letting the door swing closed.  He swept the maps and papers that were scattered across the table into a pile, shuffling instruments and making a clear space where Emma sat.  He sank into the chair closest to her.

“We’ve almost reached the Enchanted Forest,” he said conversationally.  “So perhaps you could enlighten me as to which kingdom I am sailing toward?”

“My father is King David,” she said.

Hook gave her a thin smile.

“There was no King David when last I visited the Enchanted Forest,” he said patiently.

Emma chewed her lip, remembering that he was far older than he looked.

“My grandfather was King George?” she said, “Father never told me about King George’s family…  Um, my mother is from the kingdom that is now ruled by Queen Regina.  She is my mother’s step-mother.  My maternal grandparents were Leopold and Ava.”

Hook scratched his ear idly, looking off into a corner of the room.

“Ah,” he said, “I recall the birth of a Prince Leopold.  There was quite a celebration.”

Emma was taken aback. 

It was one thing for someone to say, “I’m almost one hundred years old,” but it was quite something else to hear that they’d celebrated the birth of your grandfather.

“I’ve upset you,” he said softly.

“No,” she said quickly.  “It’s just…”

“I was in Neverland for a long time,” he said gently, his mouth quirking briefly into a frown.

“Yes,” she said weakly, staring at the wood-grain of the table.

“Emma,” he murmured, “Emma, look at me.”

She reluctantly let her eyes travel up to his face.  She couldn’t deny how much she liked hearing him say her name. 

He was looking at her with warm, stormy eyes.  His expression was serious, but also soft.  She gave him a small, shy smile.  He took one of her hands in his and gave her fingers a little squeeze.  He drew her hand to his lips and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles.

Then Tinkerbell opened the door to the cabin, bustling inside uninvited with a tray of food balanced on one upturned palm.  A protesting Mr. Smee was hot on her heels with a second tray of food.

“You can’t just barge into the cap’n’s quarters!” Smee was saying.

“And yet,” Tink said sardonically, turning to look at him, both of her feet on the floor of the forbidden cabin.

“Leave her be, Smee,” Hook said, leaning back in his chair and assuming a bored, regal air.  “There is no sense in arguing with a woman.”

Emma’s spine stiffened at that.  She gave Hook a sharp look, but he was looking at the other two.

“Aye, cap’n,” Smee said, nodding his head.  “The pixie said that Lady Swan would be eating in your quarters, so I took the liberty of preparing a tray for you as well.”

“Excellent, Smee,” Hook said, gesturing to the empty table in front of him. 

Smee and Tinkerbell each set their respective trays down in front of Hook and Emma.    Tinkerbell patted Emma on the shoulder.

“You may leave, now,” Hook said, making a dismissing gesture with his hand, his eyes surveying the contents of the tray.  He looked mildly disappointed.

Mr. Smee immediately bowed his head and scurried out of the cabin, but Tinkerbell raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips.

“I’m not part of your crew, Hook,” she said.

“But you can leave, all the same,” he said with a sarcastic, closed-lip smile. 

She mirrored the expression at him before turning to Emma.

“Anything else you need?” the pixie asked Emma in a warmer tone.

“I’m fine,” Emma said.  “Thank you.  You should go have your meal.”

Tinkerbell nodded slowly, her eyes flickering back and forth between Emma and Hook.

“All right, then,” the pixie said as she left.  “Rest well, Swan.”

Emma finally looked at the tray of food before her.  It contained a hard tack roll, a bowl of oily fish stew that smelled like it was seasoned with saltpork, and a mug of dark beer.  Hook’s tray contained more of the same, though the portion of stew was larger and he’d been given two rolls. 

Hook picked up one of his rolls and ripped a chuck from it with his hook. 

“I apologize for the lack of utensils,” he said good-naturedly.  “We tried keeping flatware in the galley, but it resulted in too many impaled hands.”

Emma’s mouth fell open at that.  She gave a nervous little chuckle, imagining a galley full of pirates brandishing forks at each other as they fought over food items.

Hook scooped up some stew with his torn bit of bread and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on Emma.

Emma copied him, tearing the roll to make a tool with which to attack the stew.  When she tasted it, it was salty and fishy.  The layer of grease that floated on the top was rich and unctuous.  Before she knew it, she was slurping the last drops of stew from the bowl and licking crumbs and swirls of grease from her fingers.

When she finally sat back with a sigh, she saw that Hook was staring at her with a surprised expression.   He blinked at her, his mouth hanging open and his adam’s apple bobbing.  Looking at his tray, she saw that he hadn’t eaten half of his food yet.

He set down the roll in his hand and pushed his tray toward her, keeping back only the mug of beer.  She eyed the tray hungrily, biting her lip.

“Please don’t stand on ceremony, lass,” he said, his voice just a little strained.  “If you’re hungry, eat.”

With a grateful little groan, she dove into the second tray of food.  She managed to retain a little composure this time, and she did her best to eat in a more civilized manner.  She still ended up dragging her fingers through the dregs of stew at the bottom of the bowl before sticking the digits into her mouth to suck the greasy broth from them.

Hook was watching her again, and his color looked off—like he was flushed.  She hoped she hadn’t made him sick with her barbaric display of poor table etiquette.

“Still hungry?” he said in a low, choked voice.  “I can call for more.”

“No, I… I think I’m done,” Emma said self-consciously.

Hook took a long drink from his mug of beer, still watching her.  Emma took a sip from her mug.  The beer was bitter, though someone had added a splash of citrus to it.  She drank again, gulping down the entire mug in one long pull. 

Hook finished his a moment after she finished hers.  

He shook his head a little and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

“How about some air, love?” he said.  His voice was still a little strained.  “I’ve yet to give you the proper tour of my ship.”

Emma smiled, still feeling a little self-conscious.

“I’d like that,” she said meekly.

Hook waited while Emma slipped her boots back on, then he stood and offered her his hand.  She took it and let him pull her to her feet.  He put her arm through his, linking her right arm with his left. 

“This,” he said with a playful glint in his eye, gesturing around the room, “is the captain’s cabin.”

She gave a little laugh, shoving into his side.

“I’ve seen this part of the ship already,” she said.  “Let’s see the rest.”

“As you wish,” he said softly, his smile warm and happy.

He led her through the ship, pointing out features as they went.  He showed her every part of the vessel, from the dark depths of the hold to the sun-swept deck.  The ship wasn’t overly large, but it still took most of the afternoon to explore it fully.  They came across what she presumed was every single crew member as they moved about the ship, and each straightened up and gave Hook a little nod, murmuring his title.  He greeted each by name and spoke a few words to them before moving on. 

It reminded Emma almost eerily of watching her father at court. 

On the ship, Hook was king.  And his subjects loved him.

“Turner,” he called to the sailor at the helm, clapping the man on the shoulder.  “Go have your supper, lad.  I’ll bring her to sea.”

Emma looked at the sky, surprised to see the sun was already making its way to the horizon.

The sailor looked at Hook with admiration, even though they appeared to be the same age.

“Aye, captain,” he said, dipping his head.  He turned his eyes to Emma and bowed deeper.  “My lady.”

Emma gave a little curtsey in response.  Turner grinned at that and jogged off to the galley.

Hook turned to Emma as he put his hand on the ship’s wheel.

“There is no way to know when the pixie dust will wear off,” he said to Emma.  “Since we’ve crossed into our own realm, I think it best we resume the more common form of sailing.”

Emma nodded, her eyes widening a little at the idea of the dust wearing off while they were in flight.

“That seems best,” she said a little shakily.  She let go of Hook’s arm to give him room to steer.

He took his place at the wheel, hand and hook gripping it lightly.  He looked at home.  The sea clearly ran through his veins.  He called orders to the men on the deck, and they scurried to do his bidding.

“Best take hold of something, lass,” he said to Emma with an almost boyish grin on his face. 

Emma backed up to the railing and gripped it tightly.

The descent wasn’t as dramatic as he’d made it out to be.  He guided the ship smoothly down to the water, and it met the waves with only a small bump. 

Tinkerbell, Mr. Smee, and most of the crew had come above decks for the descent.  They stood about, talking animatedly with each other.  Tinkerbell and Smee came closest to the wheel.  Tinkerbell moved to be right next to Emma.

Once the ship was back in the water, Hook gave her command over to Smee.

“Mr. Smee,” he drawled, leaning against a mast.  “Do you recall the port where we feasted good Prince Leopold some years ago?”

“Aye, cap’n,” the red-hatted man replied.  “I do.”

“And the kingdom just beyond that; the one where..?” Hook trailed off, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, oh!” Smee said, his eyes going wide for a moment.  “Aye, cap’n.”

“That’s where we’re headed, Smee," Hook said.  "Set a course.”

“Aye, cap’n,” he repeated.  “If I’ve got my bearings, we’d arrive by… tomorrow noon.  But what business do we have there, sir?”

Hook smiled a broad smile.

“We’ve a princess to return to her palace,” he said loud enough for half the crew to hear.

There was a collective gasp, and Emma felt all eyes fall on her.  

“A princess?” Tinkerbell said, hissing the word, her eyes boring into Emma’s.

Emma gave the fairy a nervous little smile.  She was annoyed at Hook for revealing her secret without consulting her.  She knew, deep down, that it had to be revealed soon, but he could have at least told her. 

Her eyes were on Hook, but Tinkerbell was still talking to her.  She reluctantly looked at the pixie.

“And who are your parents, _princess_?” Tinkerbell gritted out.

“King David and Snow White,” Emma said with a small sigh, looking across the ship to the endless expanse of sea.

“Snow White?” Tinkerbell echoed. 

Emma’s eyes flicked back to meet the pixie’s gaze.  Tinkerbell looked nervous and angry.  Behind the fairy, Hook was watching their exchange with poorly concealed interest.

“Queen _Regina’s_ step-daughter?  _That_ Snow White?” Tinkerbell gritted out.

“Yes,” Emma said, confused at her tone. 

“Your grandmother is the evil queen?” the fairy said incredulously.

“Step-grandmother,” Emma said reflexively.  She frowned for a moment, and then a thought occurred to her. 

“I think she’s the one who sent me to Neverland!” she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.

“You don’t know?” Tinkerbell sputtered, the outburst seeming to derail her anger.

“I’d never met her,” Emma said.  “She’d stayed away after my parents married.  Mother thought maybe she’d given up.”

“Regina, give up?” Tinkerbell said, shaking her head.  “Not on revenge.”

It was Tinkerbell’s turn to look thoughtful, pursing her lips and crinkling her brow.

Emma met Hook’s eyes again.  He was watching with what was clearly supposed to be a relaxed, impassive expression on his face as he leaned nonchalantly against the mast.  Emma thought his eyes were just a little to intent for the aloof façade, but no one else seemed to notice. 

“As fascinating as this is,” Hook drawled in a loud and slightly bored tone when Tinkerbell didn’t say anything else.  He pushed off from the mast before continuing.  “It hardly seems germane.  Regardless of who they are, we are returning the princess to her parents and collecting our reward.”

Emma blinked at that, taken aback.  She was certain that her father would reward her rescuers— _if he was still alive,_ a voice from her nightmare whispered to her.  She shuddered at that thought, the blood draining from her face.

Hook was next to her in a second, touching her arm. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispered roughly, leaning in to speak to just her.

“Nothing,” she breathed.

“I didn’t mean to presume—” he started, looking contrite.  His eyes were wide and very blue, darting back at forth to look between hers.

“It’s not that,” she said, shaking her head and cutting him off. 

He relaxed just a tiny bit and looked at her patiently, expectantly.

“It’s just that we don’t know how long it’s been…” she started, eyes wide.  Her lip started to tremble, so she bit down on it.

“Your nightmare,” he breathed, ducking his head.  “I’m sorry, love.  I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine,” she mumbled in a shaky voice, looking down. 

He caught her chin and gently lifted it until she was looking at him again.

“No, it is not,” he said emphatically.  “I’m very sorry, Emma.”

She nodded, unable to speak when his eyes were so close and so intense.  Dimly, she wondered what the pair of them looked like to the crew.  A quick glance showed her that Hook had crowded her against the railing in a way that blocked anyone else from seeing her.  All the crew could see was his back.  He could be threatening her for all they could tell.

Tinkerbell was close enough to hear the tone of their muted conversation, but not (Emma assumed) the content.  She was watching Emma and Hook with open curiosity.

“There will surely be a reward if my—” Emma started tentatively, turning her eyes back to Hook’s.

“I don’t give a damn about a bloody reward,” Hook growled, his eyes flashing.

“Oh,” Emma said dumbly, blinking at his sudden anger. 

Hook’s expression softened.

“When I said that, I was just… It was just…” he stammered, his brow crinkling.

“Part of the game,” Emma said, realizing. 

Hook gave a tiny nod, searching her eyes.  He looked relieved.

“I suppose you’d know better than most about playing a role, wouldn’t you, princess?” he whispered.  His lips curved up into a wistful smile.

“Perhaps not so much as a pirate captain,” she said just as quietly, raising an eyebrow at him.

He looked surprised at that, but he quickly hid the expression with a smile.  He drew back from her, grinning broadly as he turned to face the crew. 

“On your feet, lads!” he bellowed.  “Smee, set that course.  We have leagues to cross, and I expect the ship to be gleaming when we arrive.”

“You heard the cap’n!” Smee added as Hook strode across the deck.  “All hands, to stations!”

Hook’s hand was still lightly encircling Emma’s upper arm.  She knew he’d release her if she wanted, but she moved with him, giving the appearance that he was tugging her along behind him.  A quick glance over her shoulder showed Emma that Tinkerbell was still standing near the ship’s wheel, watching her and Hook with that strange, inscrutable expression.

She’d worry about the fairy later, she decided. 

Hook led her back to his cabin, ordering a passing crew member to bring them dinner on the way.  When the door swung shut, he spun her around and pulled her bodily to him, wrapping his arms around her.  Her own arms were trapped between them, her hands splayed across his chest.

“Emma,” he breathed, his voice low and enticing.

She looked up at him in surprise, her pulse quickening.  Her eyes flicked to his lips. 

He pressed his forehead to hers, and she noticed that he was breathing hard, too.  He moved his head back and forth slightly, brushing her nose with his.  His eyes were closed.  Emma let her eyes flutter closed, too, and she brazenly slid her arms up to wrap them around his neck.

He groaned, and the sound sent a shiver heat down to her belly.

“Emma,” he whispered again, his voice thick with longing.  He seemed to be waiting for something again, and it suddenly occurred to Emma that maybe he was waiting for _her_.

Emma tentatively lifted her heels off the floor, lifting her body until her lips brushed his.  He groaned again and shifted his grip on her, his hand skating up her back to cup the back of her head as he pressed his lips to hers.  His mouth moved on hers hungrily, his lips more forceful than they’d been during their first kiss.  He nipped at her bottom lip, which made her gasp. 

Her gasp turned into a moan when she felt him slide his tongue along her lower lip.  She opened her mouth half in surprise, and then his tongue was crossing her lips, dipping into her mouth to dance against her own tongue. 

She threaded her fingers in his silky hair, desperate from something to hold as she grew dizzy and breathless, drunk on the intensity of the kiss.

Emma tentatively moved her tongue against Hook’s, trying to match his movements.  He groaned loudly, his left arm pulling her tighter to him, sealing their bodies together.  His tongue danced backwards, drawing hers, and she followed eagerly, running the tip of her tongue over the curve of his lips before dipping tentatively into his mouth. 

He pulled back slightly at that, a choked growl emanating from deep in his chest.  He sucked on her bottom lip briefly before raining small, chaste kisses across her cheek to her temple as he pressed her face to his chest. 

He held her there, his breath coming in uneven heaves and his heart pounding under her ear.  Her own breathing and heartbeat were just as erratic, and she clung to him to keep her knees from giving way. 

“I shouldn’t be so forward,” he breathed into her hair.

“I thought I kissed you,” she half-teased, her voice just as thready as his.

“Aye,” he whispered, “that you did.”

They held each other until they were breathing normally and their hearts were no longer racing.  He pulled his face back until their foreheads were touching, again, noses brushing as they breathed each other’s breath.  Emma wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, but she felt more than willing to stand there forever.

A quick rap on the cabin door broke the spell.

Hook let go of her with a sigh, giving her a quick, chaste kiss on the lips before withdrawing completely to open the door.

“Ah, good man,” Hook said to the sailor carrying a tray laden with food.  “Just set it there.”

He clapped the crewman on the shoulder before ushering him gently out of the cabin.  Emma hadn’t been able to make out the sailor’s features, and she realized that the sun had set while she’d been… distracted. 

She blushed at the thought.

Hook seemed to notice the deepening darkness, too, and she heard him rustle for something and then strike a spark for the lantern he’d pulled off a shelf.  He adjusted the wick until the lamp gave a warm glow, illuminating the table clearly but leaving most of the cabin in shadows.

It was almost romantic.

Dinner was much the same fare as lunch, though Emma was amused (and slightly embarrassed) to see that Hook had requested extra portions of everything.  Between the two of them, they finished every bit of it, and Emma felt content and satisfied when the last of the food was gone.  She leaned back in her chair with a sigh that quickly turned into a yawn.

“Tired, lass?” Hook said quietly, watching her with that unreadable expression he wore sometimes.

Emma nodded, stretching.  She kicked off her boots.  She looked up at Hook through her eyelashes and chewed on her lip, unsure about what would happen next.  She watched his adam’s apple bob as he seemed to read her thoughts.

“Would you like me to… stay?” he asked oh-so-quietly, choosing the word she’d used the night before. 

Emma continued to bite her lip and let the words hang unanswered while she thought.

“Just… in case of nightmares,” he added breathily. 

Emma nodded.  She’d slept in his arms twice before, and she could admit to herself that she wanted to do so again.  If they were really arriving the next day, she knew she might never have the chance again. 

“Go—go on then,” he said, clearing his throat.  “I’ll douse the light.”

She got up clumsily and shuffled to the bed, climbing in with a little sigh.  She turned to face the wall, hiding her nervous blush. 

She heard Hook rustling, the double-thud of his boots hitting the floor, and the click when he disengaged his hook.  A few minutes later, the light flickered out and then she felt the mattress shift under his weight.  He didn’t curl up behind her, as she’d expected.  Instead, he stretched out on his back and gently rolled her to face him, collecting her into the well under his arm.  She snuggled blissfully into his chest, pressing her heated cheek to the fabric of his shirt and curling her fingers into the thin material. 

He kissed the top of her head before settling back against the pillows with a small sigh.

“Good night, Emma,” he whispered.  “I bid you sweet dreams.”

“You, too,” she breathed back.  “Good night… Killian.”

He drew a deep breath when she said his name.  He kissed the top of her head again and squeezed her gently against him with an appreciative little hum.  She smiled against his shirt and relaxed, letting his even breathing lull her peacefully to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

“Wake up, love,” Emma heard a warm voice say. 

Someone was gently shaking her shoulder. 

She rolled over and stretched, sighing contentedly before opening her eyes.

Hook’s bright blue eyes were there when she opened hers.  He was standing over her, and he was smiling a lopsided little smile that reminded her of the way her father sometimes looked at his mother.  It made her feel warm.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured, dipping to kiss her forehead.

“Good morning,” she replied shyly.  

“Care for breakfast?” he said, his lips twitching into an amused smile.

“Yes, please,” she said, sitting up.  She took a deep breath and smelled tea.  She looked past Hook to see a tray of tea on the table containing a teapot, cups, and a plate of what looked like hard tack soaked in honey.

Just like her first breakfast with him.  It seemed poetic that it would be her last breakfast with him, too.  She sighed, wishing (but not _wishing_ ) she had a little more time to just be herself—just be Emma—with this dashing rogue.  She knew that once she was home, she wouldn’t be allowed un-chaperoned breakfasts with anyone, let alone a pirate captain.

“What’s wrong, love?” he said, reading her face.

“I was just wondering if you’d over-steeped the tea, again,” she lied as smoothly as she could.

She was rewarded with a shocked expression on his face.

“I certainly did not,” he said as if offended.  “Why do you think I woke you this time instead of waiting for you to wake of your own accord?”

She smiled at that. 

“Do _you_ even make the tea this time?” she teased.

“Of course not,” he said, grinning.  “I’m clearly rubbish at it.”

Emma joined him at the table and they ate with light conversation, talking mostly about the ship and the weather, but nothing of any real import.

He touched her frequently though the meal, stroking her arm, brushing her cheek.  It seemed to Emma like he was afraid she’d disappear. 

And she would, she realized.

“How long until we arrive?” she asked nervously when they’d finished eating.

“We already have,” he said in an almost apologetic tone.  “I sent Smee and Turner to deliver word to the palace.”

“You should have woke me!” Emma gasped. 

She stood up quickly, snatching up her satchel and dashing across the room and out of the cabin.  She heard Hook call after her and then curse.  He caught up to her just as she broke out on to the deck.

Emma’s heart stopped when she saw the docks and the graceful sweet of the castle at the crest of the hill.  Her feet stopped, too, and Hook bumped into her from behind.  He cursed again under his breath.

“It’s not possible,” Emma breathed as she surveyed the shore.

Everything was _exactly_ as it had been when she left.  The signs above shop doors, the peeling paint on the butcher’s eaves, the depth of the ruts along the lane. 

And the decorations.

Purple bunting and streamers adorned every building, falling from windowsills, hanging from gutters, and wrapped around pillars.  Overflowing baskets of wisteria and lilac lined the road, and she knew that they led all the way up to the castle.  She remembered her mother describing the decorations to her and pointing out what they could see from her window the day before her birthday.

Emma ran to the gunwale, hailing a villager who was walking on the dock.

“Sir!” she called, “what day is it?  What are the decorations for?”

The man blinked at her as if she were daft.

“For the princess’s birthday, of course.”

“Which princess?” Emma asked desperately.

“There’s only the one,” the man said in a sardonic tone.

“What’s her _name_?” Emma yelled, her voice tense.

“The princess is called Emma,” the man said.  “Where can you be from that you haven’t heard about her debut and ball this night?  Not that she’ll be taking suitors…”

He’d mumbled the last part, but she’d caught the words.

All the blood drained from Emma’s face and she sank woozily to the deck.  Strong arms caught her, and she leaned gratefully on Hook, as he sat and pulled her against his chest. 

“What’s all this about, love?” Hook asked softly.

“It’s _me_ ,” Emma said in a dead voice.  “It’s all for me; for my birthday.  It’s _still_ my birthday.”

“What do you mean?” Hook murmured.

She squirmed out of his grip and turned to look at him, then up at the sky, then back at him.

“It’s mid-morning, that means… I _just_ left,” she breathed, eyes wide.  “To them I’ve only been gone for moments—maybe an hour at most.”

“That’s not possible,” Hook said weakly.  “Neverland doesn’t work that way.”

“Regina,” Emma whispered, “my step-grandmother.  She’s a witch.  She must have done this.  She must have frozen them somehow.”

“That would require very powerful magic,” Hook said thoughtfully.  “But why?  Tinkerbell told me that she hated your mother.  Why punish you?”

“I don’t know,” Emma whispered, her eyes wide with fear.

Emma was still sitting, dumb-struck, when she heard the herald announce the royal carriage.  She gave Hook a frightened look, and he stroked her cheek in response, giving her a small smile that she thought was meant to reassure her.

He stood, pulling her to her feet and leading her to the gangplank.  She leaned on him heavily and the descended the ramp.  The door to the royal carriage was opening.

“ _Emma_!” Snow White shrieked, throwing herself out of the carriage and sprinting to the dock in a far from regal way.  She held her skirts up to keep them clear of her feet.  “Oh, gods, Emma!”

Emma stepped away from Hook, moving toward her sobbing mother.  She looked exactly the same except for the dark rings under her puffy red eyes.

“Mother,” Emma choked, breaking into her own run. 

Queen and princess met in the street, colliding hard, throwing their arms around each other and mumbling endearments and declarations of love while squeezing each other tight.  Soon a second pair of arms went around Emma, and her father cradled the back of her head, planting kisses in her hair and declaring his love for her in joyous, tear-stained words. 

They were all babbling and sobbing loudly.  Another hand found one of Emma’s shoulders, and she heard another familiar voice join the incoherent conversation. 

Emma didn’t care if the ground beneath them split open.  She wouldn’t let go of her family.

She was home.  Finally _home_. 

* * *

Killian watched the reunion with mixed emotions. 

He wouldn’t deny that he was happy for Emma, but he knew that their dynamic would have to change when she resumed her royal life.  He didn’t know what his place would be or if she’d still want him to be in her life at all.

Killian couldn’t help but smile when he saw the queen hike up her skirts to sprint toward her daughter.  The pain and relief etched across the dark-haired woman’s face told Killian that while Emma thought no time had passed, she was mistaken.  The queen had clearly been in mourning.  If there was one expression Killian was familiar with, it was grief.

Two more royals exited the carriage, a handsome man with bright blue eyes and a youth with dark, unruly hair.  The boy made Killian frown.  By the look of him, he wasn’t part of the family, but he’d been riding with the king and queen and was dressed as richly as they were.

The king jogged over to his family, wrapping his arms around the weeping women.  The younger man—a prince, he’d wager—joined them a moment later, touching Emma’s shoulder and speaking to her in a soft tone.  His face was easy to read.  He was in love with the princess.

Killian fidgeted, struggling to keep his carefully crafted mask in place.  The reunion stretched on and on until the king finally withdrew, looking up to catch Killian’s eye.  He strode toward the pirate, his face strong, even streaked with tears.

“To whom do I owe my family’s happiness?” the king said, giving Killian an appraising look.

“Killian Jones, your majesty,” Killian said, making a deep bow, “captain of the Jolly Roger.”

“A pirate ship?” the king asked, surprised.  “Were you returning her for a reward?”

The assumption only stung a little.  Killian forced his lips up into a careful smile.

“Perhaps gratitude is in order,” he drawled, playing his part.

“Of course,” David replied.  “I’ll give you anything within my power; riches, lands, titles—”

“Titles?” Killian echoed, the word surprising him.  The gears in his head began turning.

“I’ll make you a prince of the realm, if that’s what you want,” David said easily.  “But we can discuss the details later.  Right now I just wish to shake the hand of the man who brought my daughter back to me.”

The king raised his hand and offered it to Killian.  Killian accepted it, and David gave it a firm squeeze, bringing his left hand forward to clasp Killian’s hand with both of his own.

“Thank you,” the king said with absolute sincerity.  “What you have done will never be forgotten.  The queen and I are indebted to you for the return of our daughter, and I know that Prince Neal is grateful to have his fiancée back.”

Killian’s heart turned to ice in his chest, but he managed to keep the smile on his face.

“You honor me, your majesty,” he said, ducking his head a little.

“That I will,” the king said happily.  “There is a ball tonight, and it has been planned for a _very_ long time.  You _will_ come.”

“Of course,” Killian said dryly, wanting nothing more than to sail away as fast as he could, “how could I refuse?”

“And your crew,” David added, looking over Killian’s shoulder at his ship.  “They’re invited, too, of course.  I’ll send valets to see everyone dressed properly.”

“We shall wait on baited breath,” Killian said with false enthusiasm, wishing the man would let go of him and let him flee.

“Oh, no, not you, captain,” David said, clapping Killian on the back and steering him toward the carriage.  “You’ll come with us now.  I want to hear all the details of my daughter’s rescue.  Snow—uh, the queen—will be beyond words for the trip, I’m sure, and I’ll need someone to talk to.”

The king was smiling at him expectantly.  He genuinely seemed to want to talk to the pirate.

“Surely your majesty would prefer to be alone with his family at a time like—” Killian tried to protest, but the king cut him off.

“I insist,” David said.

Killian bowed his head, letting the king lead him to the carriage.  The queen, princess, and prince had already piled into the car and were squeezed together on one seat.  Emma was in the middle with her mother’s arms still locked around her.  Snow White cried into her daughter’s hair, her face a fierce mask of joy and pain.  The prince, Neal, looked slightly uncomfortable, maybe because of all the crying.  He was clutching Emma’s hand in both of his.

Killian slid into the cabin, sitting across from the queen.  David slid in beside him, across from Neal.  The door shut and the carriage began moving.  The king turned to face Killian.

“So, Jones,” he said, looking at Killian but reaching across to squeeze his daughter’s knee, “tell us the tale of our daughter’s rescue.”

Killian felt Emma’s eyes on him and he met them reluctantly.  Her eyes were red and her cheeks were tear-streaked.  She looked beautiful.  Her eyes were full of emotion, and he knew she was trying to communicate with him.  He saw the pain, the apology there, but he looked away.  He didn’t want to see it.

Damn the siren, she’d used him, and now he was done with her. 

“Jones?” David repeated, expectant.

“Have you ever heard of a realm called Neverland?” Killian drawled, leaning back against the wall of the carriage.

* * *

Emma had hurt him, she knew it.  She’d seen the pain in his eyes before he’d hidden it behind his “Captain Hook” façade.  She knew she should have told him about Neal, but it seemed unimportant in Neverland.  And, honestly, she hadn’t been thinking about Neal when she was with Killian Jones.

Even now, with Neal by her side, his hands on hers, she was thinking about the pirate who was actively ignoring her.  He was spinning his tale, describing Neverland and how he’d found Emma there and decided he must rescue her from that barbaric realm. 

He never outright lied about anything, but the way he told the tale painted him as the hero and Emma as the damsel.  It annoyed Emma.

David was ensnared by the story, and so was Neal.  He leaned forward, still holding her hand, but seeming to have forgotten it while he stared at the pirate with wonder.  Snow White was still holding her tightly, her tears dry, but her arms still encircling Emma fiercely. 

“ _Five years_?” Emma heard her father say.

“Thereabouts,” Hook lilted, “it can be hard to tell, in Neverland.”

He still wouldn’t meet her eyes, no matter how often she looked at him.

“I believe it,” Snow said, speaking up for the first time.  “It might have been that long, here.  Time here has behaved strangely in your absence.”

“How?” Emma asked quietly.  She felt Hook glance at her when she spoke, but he’d turned his head again when she looked at him.  He was frowning, the muscle in his jaw twitching under his stubble.

“Every day is your birthday,” Snow White whispered, eyes wide and pained.  “Every day, I lose you.”

“That’s terrible,” Hook said, his face showing raw horror instead of his controlled mask.  Emma managed to catch his eye.  He looked at her honestly for just a moment before he resumed his careful charade. 

“Who did this?” Emma asked.  “Was it—”

Snow clapped her hand over her daughter’s mouth.

“Don’t say her name,” Snow whispered.  “She’s already been here today and I don’t want her to return.”

Emma tore her mother’s hand away from her mouth, a strangled scream barely dying in her throat.  She was breathing hard and her hands had gone clammy.

“Emma?” her mother said tentatively.

“Don’t!” Emma gasped.  “Just don’t do that!”

“What’s wrong?” David said, alarmed.

“Fe—Fe…” Emma couldn’t say the name.  “Somebody did that to me in Neverland.”

Emma’s eyes darted to Hook’s again, and she saw his flash of rage before he schooled his features again.  He wasn’t able to completely hide his emotions, and he didn’t take his eyes from hers this time. 

“I should have killed him,” Hook growled, his voice dripping with hate and danger.

All eyes in the carriage were on Hook, now.  David’s gaze flicked back to Emma for a moment, and he raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. 

“Did someone hurt you?” Snow whispered to Emma, her voice shaking with anger.

Emma shook her head frantically, her eyes screwed shut.

“I can’t,” she breathed.  “I can’t right now.”

Snow drew a ragged breath.

“All right,” Snow said soothingly, holding Emma tight, “Emma, it’s all right.”

“I should have killed him,” Hook muttered again.

 Silence fell in the carriage after that, but it was quickly interrupted by the call of the driver announcing their arrival at the palace.  David and Hook left the carriage first, and Emma and her mother got out of the car, the two men had already disappeared into the castle.

Emma’s afternoon in the palace passed in a whirlwind.  She was embraced frequently.  Snow was constantly touching her.  Even when she was bathed and dressed, Snow was there, touching her hair, stroking her face, always just on the verge of tears.

Snow was insisting that they go through with the ball.  Emma had started to protest, but she’d seen how excited her mother was, and even David had said that the kingdom deserved it.  David had also already invited the crew of the Jolly Roger, so it would be rude to cancel it.

So Emma found herself dressed in a pale lavender gown.  Her hair was curled and coifed, tendrils of it bouncing off her shoulders and cascading down her back.  Her tiara was set atop her head.  When she’d pulled her handkerchief and tiara out of her satchel, it had set off a new cascade of tears from Snow White.  Emma knew that the tiara was important to her mother, because it had belonged to her grandmother.

Emma stood in front of the mirror, looking at herself for the first time in over five years.  She looked different.  Her cheeks had hollowed out, making her cheekbones stand out.  Her skin was darker, not the creamy pale of her mother’s any longer.  Her hair was long and pale.  Her arms held more strength, which is why she wore a strapless dress, now.  Her arms hadn’t fit in her old sleeves.  Emma body had lost some of its roundness, too.  Her corset was laced far tighter than it ever had been before, and it didn’t seem as constricting. 

“You look beautiful,” Snow whispered, placing a little kiss on Emma’s bare shoulder. 

Snow reluctantly left Emma with David and went to get dressed. 

“She’s right,” David said, “you do look beautiful.”

David embraced her lightly and kissed her forehead.  When he drew back, he was smiling an amused little smile.

“So,” he said conspiratorially, “now that your mother’s gone, why don’t you tell me about this pirate?”

Emma’s eyes went wide.

“I don’t…” she started, but her father just grinned.

“Emma, I’ve seen the way you look at him.  Even I can admit he’s a handsome man,” David said.  “But is he a _good_ man?”

Emma nodded.

“That is all I need to know,” he said, kissing her forehead again.

* * *

Killian’s afternoon had been painful in more ways than one. 

First, there was the deep, sharp pain of Swan’s betrayal.  Then there was his own bitter shame at being fooled.  On top of that, he was uncomfortable with the whole situation.  And then, to make matters worse, the king had personally delivered Killian to the royal tailor.  The man did seem to know his job, and Killian knew that it was his own fault for fidgeting, but he’d been stuck with bloody pins more times than he could count on his own fingers.

And then they’d taken his hook.

David had been reasonable—oh, so diplomatic—about it.  He’d explained how the wicked appendage might frighten the ladies and wouldn’t it be easier to dance without it? 

Killian had sent a missive back to his ship for his wooden hand and some other items from his cabin.  The king had _insisted_ that Killian stay in the palace for at least a few days.  He’d even been assigned a bloody _valet_ , as though he couldn’t do up his own damned buttons. 

The crew was elated, of course.  Whenever he came across one of them, they were clapping him on the back and crowing about their good fortune.  It was all Killian could do to keep from ripping their heads off.  It wasn’t their fault he was a sodding fool. 

And so Killian had been fed and bathed and was now being dressed by a tall man with shifty eyes who called himself Thomas.  The valet had been all smiles and “accidental” caresses when they were first alone, but Killian had put an end to that nonsense immediately.  He’d done it gently, since there was so need to shame the lad for his preferences.  Killian had spent too many years on a ship to judge a man, especially one with such impeccable taste. 

Now Thomas was the picture of professionalism. 

“It’s a lovely vest,” Thomas said, stroking the embroidery of the blood-colored fabric in appreciation before sliding the garment over Killian’s shoulders.  “I favor this older style, me.”

That gave Killian pause.  He hadn’t thought about fashion in over half a century.

“Is it appropriate for the ball?” he asked the valet before he could stop himself.  He shouldn’t care, he knew, but part of him still wanted to make a good impression.

“I’d say so, sir,” Thomas said amicably as he buttoned the vest and tugged it into place to show an even strip of shirt along the edge.  “Though I wager you could wear a turnip sack tonight and still make friends with the ladies.” 

Killian grinned at that.

“And the coat?” Killian asked as Thomas adjusted his scabbard across his hips.  He’d let the tailor fit him with a new shirt and trousers (both in black), but he’d drawn the line at a new coat.  He’d allowed them to clean and mend his well-worn leather, but he refused to replace it, even for a night.

“Very striking, sir,” Thomas said with a smile as he held up the leather garment in question for Killian to slip his arms into. 

Thomas fetched a mirror while Killian clicked his leather-covered wooden hand into place.  Looking into the glass, Killian nodded. 

“Thank you, Thomas,” he said.  “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Very good, sir,” the valet said with a smile.

* * *

Emma fidgeted in her seat on the royal dais.  She felt so out of place in the ballroom.  The space was too open and yet also too crowded.  There were more people present than lived in the whole of Neverland. 

She let out a sigh, slumping down as much as her corset allowed.

The dancing hadn’t begun, but guest milled about holding flutes of wine and nibbling on bites of food.  The atmosphere was festive, which was a completely foreign thing to Emma after a half decade looking over her shoulder for Lost Boys.

“Killian Jones,” the herald announced, “captain of the Jolly Roger.”

Emma’s head snapped up at the name, her eyes going immediately to the door, searching through the small crowd that had gathered there.

“Ah, there’s our guest of honor,” King David said from his seat at Emma’s right. 

“I thought _Emma_ was the guest of honor,” Neal countered from his place on the other side of Snow White.

“They both are,” the queen declared diplomatically. 

Emma was only half-listening.  She’d spotted the man in question, and her throat had gone dry.  He looked powerful and dangerous in his black and red attire.  He stood out from the pastels and bright colors that dominated the clothing in the room.  Emma felt her heartbeat quickening as she watched him.  Judging by the hush that had fallen over the ballroom, Emma wasn’t the only one who’d noticed him.  She heard the tittering begin behind various fans as ladies admired the dashing pirate captain. 

Even without his namesake, he was clearly in captain-mode tonight.  He was surveying the crowd aloofly, his eyes scanning the room without landing on anything in particular.  When he turned to look at the royal dais, their eyes locked for a handful of heartbeats.  Emma saw the sea of emotions in his eyes, even from across the room.  He was angry with her, she knew, and hurt, but there was a flicker of something warm still in his eyes every now and again.  And the way his mouth had opened when he’d seen her made her feel tingly.

When they’d been alone in his cabin, she’d allowed herself to think of him as Killian, but now, she wasn’t sure.  They didn’t seem like the same man, Killian and Hook, not really.  And yet the idea that they were separate was ridiculous.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” David said, rising from his throne.  He waited until the crowd quieted before speaking.  “I know we’ve been planning this night for a very long time, so I won’t delay your merry-making with all the details.  Suffice to say, we are all eager to celebrate the long-awaited return of our beloved Princess, Emma.  So tonight, we honor her and the man who risked his own life to bring our princess home, Captain Killian Jones.”

David gestured toward Killian with an open hand, and Emma watched the pirate’s eyebrows rise.

“Come here, please, Captain,” David said.

Killian made a ghost of a bow and strode across the room at a full swagger.  The crowd parted for him, a murmur following him all the way across the room. 

David stepped down from the dais and beckoned Emma with one hand.  She joined her father on the lowest step leading up to where the thrones sat.  He took her hand in his. 

Emma wondered what her father had planned.

Killian stopped at precisely the maximum polite distance and made a beautiful formal bow.

“Your majesty,” he said easily, as though he greeted kings every day.  He turned slightly, still bowing, and nodded his head in Emma’s direction.  “Your royal highness.”

“Captain Jones,” David said, his voice carrying across the ballroom, “in recognition of your deeds, I give you the honor of the first dance tonight with my daughter.”

This close, Emma saw the slight flaring of Killian’s eyes and heard his sharp intake of breath.  She let out her own tiny gasp.

“Your majesty,” Killian began to protest, bowing again.

“I insist,” David said firmly, lifting Emma’s hand and leading her down to Killian as he straightened.  David offered Emma’s hand to the captain, who took it tentatively, bowing over it.  She felt his breath on her knuckles, but he did not touch her hand with his lips.

“I trust you can waltz?” David murmured with a smile, not loud enough for anyone else to hear beyond the three of them.

“Aye,” Killian replied just as quietly.  He straightened up and took a step closer to Emma, pulling her hand up to his shoulder and extending his stiff left hand for Emma to take.  She took up the proper position and he placed his right hand lightly on the center of her back, holding her as far away from him as the dance allowed.

Emma gazed into Killian’s eyes, but he seemed to be staring pointedly over her right shoulder, not making eye contact.  In her periphery, Emma saw her father gesture to the orchestra and remount the dais to sit next to his wife.

The music started, and Killian began to move, leading Emma in a perfect waltz. 

“Killian,” Emma breathed, unsure how to mend what she’d broken.

“You needn’t say anything, your highness,” he murmured formally.  “This dance won’t last but a few minutes, and then you can go back to your _fiancé_.”

He growled the last word, and it annoyed her, but she knew he had her to rights.

“I should have told you,” she sighed.

He opened their stance and then spun her instead of replying.  Emma was grateful to see that she remembered all the steps, but she was more concerned with the conversation than their footwork.

“I’m sorry,” she said when they were facing each other again, but he still made no reply. 

She sighed after a double spin and tried again.

“I’m an only child, Killian, heir to the kingdom,” she said.  “What choice do I have?”

Killian faltered a step. 

He covered it easily by leading her into the cape position, which disallowed her from seeing his eyes at all but put her mouth near his ear. 

“We’ve been betrothed since before I could walk,” Emma said.  “I never had a say in it.”

Killian spun her gracefully and brought her back into his arms, finally meeting her eyes.  His expression was wary, but hopeful.

“What do you want from me, Swan?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, searching her eyes. 

When she didn’t immediately reply, he led her into open position and they promenaded a few steps before he closed their position and spun her again.  He really was an excellent dancer.

“I don’t know,” Emma whispered when they were once again face to face.  He’d pulled her tighter to him this time.

“Do you… care for him?” Killian asked.

“We were raised together,” Emma said.  “Of course I care for him.”

“Do you love him?” he rasped, his voice intense and demanding.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back, searching his eyes.

 “You don’t have to marry him,” Killian murmured before whipping them into a double spin.  She almost thought he was testing her ability to keep up with his footwork. 

“I can’t ignore my responsibilities,” Emma whispered in frustration. 

Killian spun her again, moving her through a serious of reverses and promenades before pulling her nearly flush against him.  He’d increased their spin, taking longer steps, and she hoped that hid his intimate embrace from most of their onlookers.

“What if you had another option?” he rasped directly into her ear, making her gasp. 

He didn’t give her any chance to reply as he led her into cape position again and then through an intricate series of spins and reverses.  She was barely able to keep up.  She hadn’t waltzed in years, but she’d been taught how to follow, and Killian led her in the ballroom as well as he led his crew on his ship. 

The song was coming to a close, and Killian maneuvered Emma smoothly back to the edge of the royal dais, ending the dance exactly where it had begun.  He bowed over her hand again as she curtseyed, and this time he did press his lips to her knuckles. 

When Killian opened their stance again to face her parents, Emma was surprised to see that both the king and queen had come down from the dais.  Leaving her hand on Killian’s wooden one, Emma dipped into a curtsey toward her parents, feeling Killian bow beside her. 

“Your majesty,” Killian murmured to the queen.

David and Snow White mirrored their actions and then David held out his hand to Emma as Snow White offered her hand to Killian.  There was another exchanging of bows and curtseys, and then the music resumed and all four of them were dancing, the two couples spinning off in different directions.    

“That was unexpected,” David said to Emma as they twirled. 

“Mm,” she replied noncommittally, unsure what he was referring to exactly.

“Who’d have guessed a pirate could dance like that?” David asked with a smile.  Emma glanced over her father’s shoulder to see Killian spin her mother.  They both appeared to be laughing.

“Who indeed,” she murmured.

“Was his story true?” David asked, reversing their rotation easily but not quite as smoothly as Killian had done.

“Yes,” Emma said simply. 

“And he really is a pirate?” David said as if he didn’t believe it.

“It’s what the Lost Boys called him,” Emma said with a little shrug.

David spun her again.

“What about that fairy Jones mentioned?  Tinkerbell?”  David asked when he pulled her back to closed position.  “Where is she, now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Emma said, surprised that she hadn’t wondered that earlier.  “I haven’t seen her since we were on the ship.”

“We should try to find her,” David said with a little nod.

“Well, isn’t this precious,” rang a sardonic female voice. 

Emma’s spine stiffened at the sound.  She’d only heard the voice once before, but once had been enough.  It was the witch. 

It was Regina.


	11. Chapter 11

The music came discordantly to an end and the crowd erupted in panicked gasps and murmurs.

“ _Regina_ ,” Snow White hissed, low and dangerous.  She spun, drawing Killian’s sword from its sheath on his hip.  Killian’s look of surprise was almost comical.

David moved to put himself between Regina and his daughter, pushing Emma gently behind him and stepping forward as he drew his own sword.

“My dear Snow,” Regina replied with a nasty smile, her voice dripping with contempt.  She took a step forward, ignoring the weapons. 

“Your curse is broken, Regina,” Snow White said.  “You’ve lost.”

“Is it?” Regina said in mock surprise.  “Have I?  How do you know this isn’t all part of my plans?”

Emma knew that Regina was lying, but she saw doubt flicker across her mother’s face.

David stepped forward, raising his sword.

“Leave this kingdom at once, Regina,” he said evenly.  “You are not welcome here.”

“And how will you keep me out, _Charming_?” Regina replied contemptuously.

“We’ll find a way,” Snow White declared fiercely, taking another step forward. 

Emma saw that Killian was shadowing her mother, watching her back.  Emma knew that Regina couldn’t physically harm either of her parents, thanks to a protection spell that had been cast before she was born, but Killian didn’t know that.  And Regina _could_ hurt Killian and the other guests at the ball.  That thought made Emma sick to her stomach.

“You think this illusion of happiness will last?” Regina spat.  “I will never allow you to—“

“ _Leave_ , Regina,” Snow White snapped, “Get out now, or so help me—”

Regina’s eyes narrowed at Snow’s interruption.  Her right hand flicked out, a little ball of fire appearing and then flying towards Emma’s mother.  Snow raised her stolen sword to deflect it, but Killian reacted faster, catching Snow’s arm as if they were still dancing.  He spun her, putting himself in the way of the fireball.  Emma saw him grit his teeth and hunch forward with his arms wrapped around the queen, preparing for the flames to hit his back.

“No!” Emma gasped, leaping in front of her father and throwing both her hand out at once.  Her left arm extended straight toward Killian, her fingers splayed, her palm perpendicular to the ground.  Her right arm extended toward Regina in a graceful curve, her palm facing up as she flicked her wrist in a throwing motion.  She felt the power emanate from each hand simultaneously. 

A semi-translucent dome of energy snapped into place between Killian and the fireball.  The flame spell crashed into the dome, sending sparks of red, blue, and purple in all directions.  At the same time, a silvery-blue ball of shimmering force tumbled quickly toward Regina, growing larger with each rotation it made.   It was the size of a horse when it struck the evil queen, tossing her backwards. 

The room went deadly quiet, or at least Emma thought it did.  Her ears seemed to be ringing.

Emma swayed on her feet, the effort of what she’d just done taking a toll on her.  Dimly, she heard voices calling her name.  One frantic voice was calling her “Swan” instead of “Emma,” and that made her smile.  Emma knew she had to move quickly, though, before Regina had time to recover. 

Emma took three steps forward, wobbling slightly, but keeping her balance.  She drew both of her hands back, her arms wide and her fingers splayed.  She felt the power collecting in her palms and held it, gathering it together for just a second before shoving both of her hands forward, palms towards Regina, similar to the way she’d made the protective shield for Killian.  

The magic shot forward from her hands, so forceful that it tossed her hair and skirts behind her and filled the room with bright white light.  Invisible to everyone else, Emma saw translucent vines she'd cast begin winding around Regina’s limbs and torso.  They restrained the dark-haired woman gently, little buds and leaves sprouting periodically as the tendrils of magic grew and spread over her body. 

The spell did nothing to Regina physically, but the vines would keep her from using magic.

“She’s bound,” Emma said, her voice thready and odd-sounding to her own ears.  She felt weak.  “She can’t use magic.”

Emma’s head was spinning.

“Guards!” Snow called out.  “Take her away.”

“How long will it last?” David said gently, sheathing his sword and taking hold of Emma’s right elbow.  Emma found that Killian was supporting her other side.

“I don’t know,” Emma said breathlessly, her vision swimming.

“Are you all right, love?” Killian murmured.

“I think so,” Emma said, meeting his concerned gaze.

“Emma,” Neal said tentatively, stepping into Emma’s line of sight.  She tried to focus on his face, but there seemed to be two of him.  Both Neals looked conflicted. 

“You can use _magic_?” Neal accused.

She heard the distaste in his voice as he spat the last word.  Neal hated magic.  Because of magic, Neal had never been able to embrace his own father.  King Midas had sent Neal to live with David and Snow as soon as they had signed the betrothal agreement, just a year after Emma’s birth.

Emma felt Killian go tense beside her.  He didn’t seem to like Neal’s tone.

“Yes,” Emma said as gently as she could, “I can use magic.”

“Can you _stop_?” Neal asked, his face contorting.  He was scared, she knew.

Killian made a small, angry noise that Emma hoped Neal couldn’t hear.  She spoke over it just in case.

“I don’t know, Neal,” she sighed.  Her head was fuzzy and she didn’t want to be having this conversation.  She just wanted to sit down.  “I don’t know.”

Snow White was still looking at Emma with apprehension.  She wasn’t as upset as Neal, but she was clearly uneasy.

“Now may not be the best time, Neal,” David said gently.  “Can’t you see she’s tired?”

“Of course,” he said, his eyes flicking to the king.  He bowed his head contritely.  “My apologies.  Please excuse me.”

David turned to face Emma, his eyes darting to Killian briefly.

“Can you hang in there for a few more minutes?” he asked Emma, looking at her with fatherly concern.

“Yes,” Emma breathed.  “I just need to sit down, I think.”

David and Killian led Emma over to the royal dais.  There, Killian gave her arm a little squeeze and let go of her, letting the king escort his daughter up to her seat.  David kissed her forehead before turning to the crowd, and Emma slumped gratefully into the cushions, letting her eyes close for a moment.

* * *

Killian wished he could have helped Emma further, but he knew stepping on to the royal dais in the middle of the crowded ballroom would have been very bad form.  So he stood just below, clenching his jaw and watching as King David tended to his daughter. 

Snow White was still standing on the marble floor, holding his cutlass.  She clearly didn’t enjoy the idea of her daughter using magic, but if the witch had been her step-mother, he could understand why.  But Killian didn’t understand why the prince had been so negative.  When the boy had spoken to Emma, Killian had wanted to teach him some manners.

The king spoke quietly to Emma and then kissed her forehead, making her smile.  She leaned back on the cushioned chair, tired but regal.  David turned to address the crowd.

“This has been an exciting day,” the king said with a disarming smile, trying to put everyone to ease.  “And we have ample reason to celebrate.  I hope everyone here is still able to enjoy their evening.”

He looked out over the crowd, smiling and nodding at people.  He descended the steps until he was standing near Killian again.  Killian started to move out of the way.

“Don’t go just yet,” David said quietly to Killian, making the captain blink in surprise.

Killian raised an eyebrow at the king, but David just smiled and turned back to the crowd.

“I for one must comment on the bravery I just witnessed,” David declared.  “Without a weapon and without magic, this man—” David gestured to Killian. “—who isn’t even a citizen of our kingdom, put himself between Snow White and the evil queen.  He selflessly risked his life to protect her.  For this act alone, he would have earned my gratitude—” David paused for effect.  “—but this man also rescued our princess.”

David lowered his voice, speaking just too Killian.

“You still want titles, Jones?” the king said with a rakish smile.

“A—aye, your majesty,” Killian stuttered in surprise.

David grinned at him and drew his sword.

“Then kneel.”

Killian knelt before the king.  He was glad for the chance to look down, hiding his expression.  He was shaking with emotion.  He’d never thought he’d find a king he’d be willing to serve, let alone one who would take him into his service.  David’s actions were unexpected.  They’d just met, but Killian felt instinctively that David was a good man—a good king, and David seemed to have some faith in him, too, despite his status as a pirate.  Killian was excited, nervous, and a little awed.  They weren’t emotions he was used to feeling.  They reminded him of bygone days, when he still had a brother.

“For hazarding death to protect my wife,” David said loudly, “I dub thee Sir Killian Jones, Knight Protector.”

Killian felt the flat of David’s sword tap his shoulders in turn.

“Arise, Sir Killian,” the king intoned.

Killian stood, eyes wide.

“Thank you, your majesty,” he said humbly.

“I’m not done, yet,” David said quietly.  He turned to his wife, re-sheathing his claymore.  “Snow, may I have his sword?”

Snow White handed David the cutlass.  David took it lightly, feeling the balance.

“Old,” David said softly as he returned the blade to Killian, “but well cared for.”

“Aye, sire,” Killian said, dipping his head again and sheathing the sword.

“Don’t make me regret this,” David murmured.

Killian’s head snapped up in surprise and confusion.

“Sir Killian,” David continued in a booming voice.  “For you bravery and dedication in finding, caring for, and returning my beloved daughter, Princess Emma, I raise you to be known from this day forth as _Prince_ Killian, Knight of the Realm and Defender of the Kingdom.”

Killian’s wasn’t the only jaw that dropped as David clasped Killian’s hand and pulled him up on to the royal dais.

* * *

Emma dimly realized that her mouth was hanging open. 

She was honestly shocked at what her father had just done.  She didn’t even know if it was technically legal.  What had Killian been made prince _of_?

He caught her eyes, and Emma could see that he was just as surprised as she was. 

The glance didn’t last long.  David swung Killian around to present him to the crowd.  They seemed just as dumb-struck as Emma.  There was a moment of awed silence, and then someone (Emma assumed it was one of Killian’s crew members) let out a whoop.  A smattering of applause followed, which turned into a full round of clapping, and other cheers and shouts of praise carried through the room. 

Emma leaned back, shaking her head.  She was still stunned, both by this latest turn of events and by her instinctive use of magic against Regina.  Her head was still spinning, and her limbs felt like lead.  It had been an overwhelming day. 

With a sigh, Emma closed her eyes for just a moment. 

“Emma?”

Opening her eyes, she looked up to find her mother standing over her. 

“Emma, dear, you fell asleep,” Snow White said with hint of a smile.

“I did?” Emma murmured, fighting a yawn.

“Yes, it’s almost midnight,” the queen whispered.

Snow looked nervous.

“Midnight?” Emma said, confused.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I’d drifted off.”

“That’s fine,” Snow breezed, “it’s just…”

Snow trailed off, her brow crinkling.

“Mother?” Emma said, concern coloring the word.

“The curse.” Snow said.  “It resets everything at midnight.”

“Oh,” Emma breathed, blinking.  “But it’s broken now.”

Snow fidgeted.

“Of course,” Snow said in a rush, “but I just wanted to be with you when the hour struck, just in case.”

Emma nodded.  She looked around the ballroom. 

There was still a large crowd, though not as large as it had been.  She scanned the room, her eyes naturally drawn to spots of black in the sea of color. 

Killian— _Prince_ Killian, she thought with awe—was standing with a group of people near a window.  He was leaning against the window frame and talking to them casually.  She thought they might be his crew, dressed for the ball.  

Killian’s eyes flicked almost lazily to the dais, as though he’d been glancing that way periodically all night.  He did a double-take when he saw her looking at him, and he shoved off the wall to stand up straight.  He looked as though he was about to cross the room, so she gave a tiny shake of her head, glancing at her mother, who was absently smoothing the fabric of Emma’s skirt.  Killian nodded and inclined his head to her, making a few of his crewmates turn to see what he was looking at.

David mounted the dais, kissed Emma’s forehead, and sat in his throne beside her.  Snow un-regally sat down on the floor of the dais at Emma’s feet, holding Emma’s hands and resting her chin on Emma’s knee as she gazed up at her daughter with apprehension and hope.

“Where’s Neal?” Emma blurted out.

“He excused himself shortly after the excitement with Regina,” David said.  “He said he was tired.”

“I’m sure he was just overwhelmed,” Snow said, “losing you every day has been just as hard on him as it has been on us.”

Emma nodded to herself, frowning.

“Emma…” the queen said tentatively, her eyes flicking to the large clock at one end of the ballroom.  There was a minute left until midnight.  She looked distraught.

“Snow, it will be fine,” David said soothingly, placing his left hand on top of Snow’s and squeezing.  Snow was holding Emma’s hands, so Emma felt the gentle, reassuring pressure too.

“I love you, Emma,” Snow said, her eyes watering.  “No matter what happens, I will _always_ love you.”

“I love you too, Mother,” Emma said, feeling her own eyes prickle.

David leaned in, wrapping an arm around each of them. 

Snow sniffled, and then the clock began to chime.

_Bong!_

At the first stroke, the conversation in the great hall dwindled to a murmur.

By the third toll, all conversation had stopped, as had the orchestra, who’d been in the middleof a subdued quadrille.  The dancers milled about, unsure what to do.

Halfway through the chimes, everything was still.  It felt as if the whole room was holding its breath.

On the eleventh toll, Emma heard her mother’s terrified sob.  Tears were streaming down Snow’s face and making wet spots on Emma’s dress.

The clock’s bell rang out for a twelfth time, and then the room was still and silent.

The moment stretched out for several seconds, no one willing to be the first one to break the spell.

And then somebody sneezed. 

A chorus of nervous laughter broke out, and then there was cheering.

Snow and David crushed Emma in a joyful hug, pulling her to her feet to embrace her properly.

“My baby, my Emma,” Snow was sobbing.  David rained endearments on both of them, trying to sooth his wife and express his happiness.

* * *

Killian let out a huff of breath.  He hadn’t known what would happen at midnight, and he was glad that the enchantment which had ensnared the kingdom seemed to be lifted.  He was also glad that Emma was being cared for.  He watched as Snow White and a pair of servants—two pretty lasses, one blonde, the other red-haired—helped cart the princess off to bed.

Thinking of Emma’s title reminded Killian of his own new status.  That had come as a surprise.  Killian didn’t fully understand what it meant.  What he did know was that it gave him more cards to play from.  And if he could believe Emma’s words on the dance floor, then he might just still be in the game. 

Gods, she confounded him!

He’d been sure he’d figured her out in Neverland and been wrong.  He’d felt he’d gotten to know her fairly well on the Jolly Roger, and he’d been mistaken.  Then he’d thought she’d dropped the last veil near the docks, but she’d surprised him again. 

For a girl who seemed like an open book, she was infuriatingly complex.

Killian found himself grinning.  He loved a challenge.

“Jones,” David said from nearby.

Killian turned to look.  His gathered crew members scattered or gaped.  Turner made a leg (and did it smoothly, too).  And Smee did something that looked a bit more like a curtsey than a proper bow.

“Your majesty,” Killian said, inclining his head.

“I’d like to meet with you in the morning to discuss your new privileges and responsibilities,” David said.

“Of course, sire,” Killian replied, nodding again.  “If I may ask, sire, is her royal highness well?”

David’s face shifted into a knowing half-smirk.

“Emma’s fine,” he said easily.  “She seems tired, but I can understand why.”

“She may sleep for some time,” Killian said.

“Oh?” the king asked, his eyebrows rising.

“Aye,” Killian replied.  “She slept for nearly a night and day after she used magic in Neverland.  Lady Bell, the fairy, said it was a typical reaction.”

David nodded.

“I’ll let Snow and the staff know they should let her rest, then,” he said.

“And she’ll be famished when she rises,” Killian added.

 “Thank you, Jones,” David said, nodding again.  “About that fairy you brought with you, my wife and I would also like to speak with her.”

“Unfortunately, I do not know where Lady Bell has gone,” Killian said apologetically.  “I have not seen her since I came to the palace.”

David nodded thoughtfully.

“Your grace?” Smee said in a nervous voice.

David and Killian both turned to look at the man.

“It’s ‘ _your highness_ ,’ you git,” Turner muttered to Smee.

Smee turned to David.

“Your highness—” Smee started.

“No, he’s ‘your _majesty,_ ’" Turner hissed.  "The _captain_ is ‘your highness.’”

Smee made a confused face and turned to Killian.

“Your majesty—”

Turner rolled his eyes and made a frustrated noise.

“Forget the bloody titles, man,” Killian exclaimed.  “Give over and spit it out!”

“Aye, cap’n,” Smee said meekly.

David looked surprised, and Killian realized he’d just cursed in front of royalty.

“I beg your pardon, sire,” Killian murmured, inclining his head to David.

“Don’t worry about it, Jones,” David said with a grin.  “Just don’t let it happen in front of the queen?”

“Aye,” Killian said with a nod.  He turned back to Smee.  “You were saying?”

“I—I know where Lady Bell has gone, cap’n,” Smee said, eyes wide. 

“And where is that?” Killian prompted.

“She said she needed to talk with a blue fairy before she could go to see, uh, well, that woman who tried to… uh…” Smee paused, seeming to search for the right word.

“Incinerate,” Turner supplied helpfully.

“The woman who tried to _incinerate_ you, cap’n,” Smee said, finishing with a smile and a nod.

“The blue fairy,” David murmured.  “My wife knows how to contact her, and Regina’s locked up here in the palace.  So it seems that this Lady Bell will be seeking us out.  Thank you, Mister..?”

“Smee, m’lord,” Smee said, bobbing his head.

Turner rolled his eyes again, shaking his head.

“Thank you, Mister Smee,” David said with a hint of a smirk.  He gave Killian a nod.  “Jones.”

“Your majesty,” Killian said, “when and where shall I meet with you tomorrow?”

“I’ll send word with the servants,” David said. 

“Aye, sire,” Killian replied.

David nodded again and turned to leave.  He took a few paces before looking over his shoulder.

“And Jones?” David said with a mirthful glint in his eye.

“Your majesty?” Killian answered, curious.

“Welcome to the family,” David said, grinning.

Killian’s mouth opened as his eyebrows rose.  He shook his head a little as the king strode away.  This royal family was not what he ever would have painted a royal family to be. 

* * *

The following morning, Killian was led down to the king’s sitting room after breakfast.  David was pouring over some documents as his desk when he came in.

“Your majesty,” Carson announced, “I have… _Prince_ Killian Jones to see you.”

“Very good, Carson,” David said, ignoring the way the butler distastefully pronounced Killian’s title.  “Jones, come in.  Sit down.”

“Your majesty,” Killian said, making a small bow and moving to one of the chairs on the other side of the table from David.

“No need for that, Jones,” the king said.  “Please, call me David.”

“Sir?” Killian said, stumbling in surprise.

“I insist,” the king said with a warm grin.

“As you say… David,” Killian replied tentatively.

“Hmm,” David said thoughtfully, “on second thought, you better not make a habit of that in front of the queen, okay?”

“Aye,” Killian said.

“So, the queen has informed me that I acted… hastily last night,” David said sheepishly.  “I did not consult her before bestowing titles upon you.”

Killian felt a stab of disappointment shoot down his spine.

“Of course,” he said mechanically, “I understand that you need to retract your—”

“You misunderstand me, Jones,” David said, interrupting.  “I won’t go back on what I’ve said.  I just need to clarify your standing.”

Killian waited, curious and apprehensive.

“You see, Jones,” David continued after a moment, “being knighted—that part is simple, so I won’t even go into that.  But the other title I gave you…”

David paused again, and Killian remained silent.

“You see, I’m not…”  He took a breath.  “I’m not making you the heir to the kingdom or anything.  That’s still Emma.  I’m not… adopting you.”

“I didn’t assume—” Killian started.

“But some people did,” David said.  “It’s… Honestly, it’s an empty title.  I can’t really make you prince _of_ anything.  I just thought you deserved a little recognition.  It was a spur of the moment thing.”

Something about the king’s last statement struck Killian as being off.  David wasn’t telling the whole truth, but Killian wasn’t going to press his luck with a reigning monarch.

“You _are_ a knight of the realm, though,” David continued, “with the full rights and privileges associated with the post.  I hope that is satisfactory?”

“Aye, sire,” Killian said cautiously, “but I would inquire after my ship?”

“Ah, yes,” David said.  “It has come to my attention that the vessel was once part of a navy fleet?”

“It was…” Killian confirmed tentatively, his jaw clenching unconsciously.

“Would you mind telling me that tale?” David said.  “I’m having a hard time reconciling some facts about you, Jones, and I’d like to know more about the man I’ve just asked to uphold my kingdom’s safety.”

Killian leaned back, thinking.  His brow crinkled and his jaw flexed.  He really didn’t want to speak on the subject with someone he’d just met.

“From what I’ve heard,” David said after a moment, seeming to read Killian’s body language, “most of your crew were navy sailors, too, and they followed you willingly when you turned pirate.  Is that true?”

“Aye,” Killian said softly.

David studied Killian for a moment.

“Such loyalty speaks to a man being either a tyrant or a… a shepherd,” David said.  “Which are you, Killian Jones?”

Killian thought carefully before replying.

“I left the navy because I refused to serve a tyrant,” Killian said in a low voice. 

David nodded at that.

“Are you willing to serve a shepherd?” the king asked with an amused grin, as though he were thinking of some private joke.

“Aye,” Killian said.  “It would be far better form to serve a shepherd than a tyrant.”


	12. Chapter 12

The next two days passed in a whirlwind.  Emma stayed sequestered in her rooms, being tended day and night by her maids and her mother.  David kept Killian and the rest of the palace informed, but Killian was getting restless. 

His crew had scattered back to the ship and port, happy to finally be out of Neverland.  He’d told them during the ball to consider themselves on an extended shore leave.  Smee didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, and Turner had asked permission to stay with the ship.  Killian had given command of it over to the lad, who was an honorable man and fair.  Turner had sworn to keep the ship in good repair until she could be reunited with her captain.

So Killian spent two days wandering the palace.  At first, it had been diverting enough.  He’d never had occasion to stroll through a castle before, and it was a novel experience. He’d even managed to slip past a guard to find Swan’s room, though he chose not to disturb her slumber.  Instead, he climbed to the highest towers and descended all the way to the dungeons.  But eventually he ran out of unexplored hallways. 

Killian tried to spend his second afternoon in the palace’s excellent library, but the ever present servants standing in the corners made him jittery.  After decades spent in Neverland, he had a hard time relaxing anywhere other than his cabin on the Jolly Roger.

On the morning of the third day after the ball, Tinkerbell arrived at the palace.

Killian was invited to her meeting with the king and queen.  Prince Neal was also in attendance. 

“Where is Regina?” Tinkerbell demanded without any preamble.  She was not quite glaring at the royal couple, but it was a near thing.

“Locked away,” David said.  “What business do you have with her?”

“She’s the reason I lost my wings,” Tinkerbell said, clearly frustrated.

“Lost your wings?” Neal asked, sounding curious.

“I _was_ a fairy,” Tinkerbell complained, “until Regina ruined everything.”

“Ruined everything how?” Snow White asked.

Tinkerbell launched into her story.  She explained how she’d tried to save Regina from herself by leading her to her True Love, but Regina had refused to meet the man with the lion tattoo, condemning them both to a life incomplete.  In punishment for her disobedience, the blue fairy had stripped Tinkerbell of her magic.

Snow White looked thoughtful at the end of the tale.

“What would happen if Regina and this man were to meet, now?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Tinkerbell said.  “I think she could still find her happiness.  True Love is the most powerful magic of all.  It _could_ cure her black heart.”

“Is there any other way for Regina to stop being so… evil?” Snow said.

“I don’t think so,” the pixie said.  “She’s become so dark, I think only True Love can save her.”

“If we found this man and introduced him to Regina,” David said, “what would happen?”

“She’d have a chance at happiness,” Tinkerbell said.

“But it isn’t guaranteed?” Snow White said.

“No,” Tinkerbell said.  “But without her True Love, Regina is doomed to live the rest of her life in a hate-filled pit of darkness.”

“So there is a chance we can save her,” Snow White breathed as if relieved.

“Snow,” David said, “are you sure?  We’ve given Regina chances before, and it’s only brought us pain and suffering.  Look at what this last curse did to you.”

“I know, David,” Snow said, “but this woman— _the evil queen_ —this isn’t really Regina.  She’d not the woman I knew when I was a girl.  If there’s a chance—just a chance—that we can save Regina from herself, we have to at least try.”

David nodded.

Killian was shocked.  If it had been up to him, Regina would have already been executed, but the queen was so merciful.  Even after her years of suffering, she still held hope in her heart.  It was admirable.

“How would we find this man?” Neal asked.  “How do you know he’s even still alive?”

“He is alive,” Tinkerbell said.  “I made inquiries before I came to the palace.  He lives in the Sherwood forest.”

“Sherwood Forest… lion tattoo…” David said thoughtfully, then his face lit up.  “I think I know who that is.”

“Who?” Snow asked, but David didn't seem to hear.

“Jones,” the king said, meeting Killian’s eyes with a grin.  “How would you feel about undertaking a hero’s journey?”

 Killian’s head snapped up at the turn of phrase.  He was loath to leave the palace and Emma, but he was also excited to have a quest bestowed upon him by an honest, worthy king.

“I would be honored to accept this quest, your majesty,” Killian said humbly, bowing his head.

“Excellent,” David said.

“Who is it, Charming?” Snow said, clearly a little irritated that her husband had ignored her earlier question.

“Robin Hood,” David said.

Snow White and Neal both looked surprised.

“Robin Hood is Regina’s True Love?” Snow White said doubtfully.

“It would seem so,” David said.

“Why are you sending _him_?” Neal asked David, his eyes flicking to Killian.

“You mean _other_ than the fact that he’s a knight of the realm?” David said.

Neal frowned.

“I’m sending Jones because I believe him to be the most suitable candidate for convincing Hood to come to the palace.”

“Why is he the most suitable?” Neal asked.

“Because," David said with a grin, "Killian Jones and Robin Hood have a lot in common.”

Killian had to arch an eyebrow at that.  He hadn’t heard about this ‘Hood’ character before.  Killian assumed Hood had been born after he’d left the Enchanted Forest for Neverland.  He had to wonder what he could possibly have in common with the man.

Killian didn’t get a chance to find out before leaving; neither did he get a chance to say goodbye to Swan.  He was provided with a patent of nobility, royal letters of credit, and (to Killian’s great surprise) a letter of marque for the Jolly Roger.  He had the last item sent on to Turner, since the forest to which Killian was journeying was inland from the palace.

David personally escorted Killian down to the stables where a beautiful black stallion was being saddled and prepared for the journey.  Killian added his new folio of royal documents to the saddlebags along with a few of his other personal effects.   

“I’m putting a lot of trust in you with this quest, Jones,” David said as Killian mounted the steed.

“Aye, sire,” Killian replied.  “I understand the responsibility.”

“The fate of the entire kingdom may rest on the outcome of this endeavor,” the king said.

“Is Regina that powerful?” Killian asked, frowning.

“Yes,” David said.  “And we can’t just execute her.  Snow would never allow it.”

Killian nodded slowly.

“She is quite kind-hearted, the queen,” he said, meeting David's eyes.

 “Yes, she is,” David said with a little smile.  “Good luck with Robin Hood, Jones.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Killian said, bowing his head.  “I will do everything within my power to bring the man here.”

“You brought my daughter home,” David said.  “I have faith.”

Killian ducked his head again, a little embarrassed.  Instead of replying, he nudged the horse ahead with his heels, gently coaxing him into a walk toward the stable exit. 

Once he was in the sunlight, Killian increased the horse’s gait to a trot.  Killian posted the trot until the stallion was on the road, then he fell into decades-old muscle memory to sit the trot.  Killian hadn’t been on a horse in quite some time, but he’d kept active (out of necessity) in Neverland, so his body didn’t protest too much to the bounce of the trotting horse.  He knew he’d be sore after a few hours, but pain was something with which Killian Jones was quite familiar.

And just like that, Killian Jones found himself on another hero’s journey.  He hoped that this one would end better than the last one he’d attempted.

* * *

Emma woke up ravenously hungry. 

She was disoriented, too.  Looking around, it took her several minutes to figure out where she was.  This wasn’t her cave.  The bed was far too large and soft, and though she could smell the sea, there was a spicy, earthy note missing from the aroma. 

Emma rose to ring for her maid and found that Anna, her mother’s blonde maid was standing nearby.  Anna dropped into a neat curtsey, smiling.

“Good morning, your highness,” Anna said quietly.  She looked pointedly over her shoulder.

Emma followed Anna’s gaze and found her mother sleeping on the chaise lounge in her room. 

The light coming in from the windows and balcony indicated that it was late morning, but Emma felt as though she’d slept far longer than a few hours.

“How long did I sleep?” Emma asked quietly.

“Just a day, this time,” Anna said with a small smile.  “That brings us up to five.”

“Five days since the ball?” Emma asked with wide eyes.

“Yes, ma’am,” Anna said.  “Do you remember much of it?”

“I remember the ball…” Emma said, thinking, “and waking to eat, I think.”

“Twice, your highness.” 

“Yes,” Emma said, “I remember.  Has my mother been staying with me the entire time?”

“As much as she can,” Anna confirmed.  “She has had some business to take care of.”

“Business?” Emma asked.

“It’s not really my place to discuss it, your highness,” Anna said diplomatically.  “How ‘bout I fetch you some breakfast?”

Emma’s stomach loudly assented to the suggestion.

“Yes,” Emma said, “perhaps that’s best.”

 .

Emma ate heartily while Snow filled her in on the happenings during her slumber. 

“…And so the fairy thinks that it is the best chance for saving Regina,” she was saying as Emma half-listened, “so you father sent that pirate captain to—”

“What?” Emma interrupted.

“If we can bring her True Love here," Snow repeated, "then maybe—”

“Not that part,” Emma said.  “Who did father send?”

“The pirate,” Snow said.  “Jones.”

“Father sent him away?”  Emma said numbly.

“Your father sent him on a quest,” Snow said with a quirk of her lips.  “He’s a knight, now, that’s what kings do with knights.”

“Of course,” Emma said, “I just thought…”

“You thought what?” Snow asked with curiosity.

“I thought…” Emma mumbled.

Emma shook her head, her brow crinkling.

“It doesn’t matter,” she sighed. 

“How are you feeling?” Snow asked, searching Emma’s eyes.

“Better,” Emma replied.  “I can hardly believe I slept five days.”

“Magic always comes with a price,” Snow said quietly.

“Mother, I—”

“It’s all right, Emma,” Snow said.  “Just don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Emma whispered, feeling chastised.

“Prince Neal’s been asking after you,” Snow said, changing the subject.  “If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps the two of you could take a walk through the gardens this afternoon.”

“Perhaps,” Emma echoed, trying to hide her frown.  She was grateful to be home with her family, but she didn’t want everything to go back to being exactly how it was.  She’d been unhappy before.  That was why Regina had been able to come to her and catch her off her guard. 

But Emma did end up walking the gardens with Prince Neal in the afternoon.  Her mother had been quite insistent.  Emma liked Neal, and she always had, but her mother’s incessant pushing made Emma want to dig in her heels. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Neal was saying while Emma looked up at the blue sky.  “We were all worried about you.”

They were walking through the largest of the gardens, and their escort was quite far back, giving them room to speak privately.  Emma was certain that her mother had arranged that.

“I just needed to rest,” Emma said.

“Yes,” Neal said, “Tinkerbell told us that.”

“You’ve spoken to her?” Emma asked, a little surprised.

“I was there when she told us about Emma’s True Love, _Robin Hood_ ,” Neal said, his lips quirking up into a smile.

Emma couldn’t help but reflect the expression.

“Robin Hood is Regina’s True Love?” Emma asked, shaking her head and grinning.

“That’s what Tink said,” Neal replied.

“Who would have guessed?” Emma mused.  “The Evil Queen and the Prince of Thieves.”

 “Stranger matches have been made,” Neal said with a grin.

“Like who?” Emma teased.

“Snow White’s Daughter and King Midas’ son,” Neal said, taking a step toward Emma.

“Oh?” Emma said, surprised.  Her heart had started beating faster.  What was he saying?  What was he doing?

“Emma,” he said, lowering his voice and stepping into her personal space.  “I’ve missed you so much.”

Emma looked frantically over Neal’s shoulder, but their escort was clearly distracted, speaking to the gardener some distance away. 

“I thought of you every day,” Neal was saying, leaning in, his voice low and intent.  “I _ached_ for you.”

Emma’s eyes widened as Neal reached up and stroked her cheek.  She hadn’t expected this.  She didn’t know if she wanted this.  She didn’t know what to do.  Her heart was thudding in her ears.

Neal leaned in slowly and gently pressing his lips to hers as she stood frozen.  He held there for a moment before slowly pulling back, resuming a proper distance from her.  Just in time, too, as Emma saw their escort glance over to check on them.

“Gods, I’ve wanted to do that for _years_ ,” Neal said.  He was flushed.

Emma knew her own cheeks were red, too.  Neal was still talking, but his words were lost to the buzzing in her ears.   

“I’m sorry, I think I need to go lie down again,” Emma mumbled, turning away from her fiancé with a slight wobble and marching away from him.

“Emma?” he called after her.

She didn’t turn.  She lifted the hem of her gown and walked as quickly as she could without drawing too much unwanted attention.  She wanted to run. 

She didn’t stop until she was safely back in her own room. 

* * *

Killian sat in a tavern, drinking ale.

He’d been chasing shadows and following wind for five days.  Every time he thought he’d found a trail or clue, he ended up back where he had started.  He was beginning to think the Hood fellow was playing games with him.  That idea made Killian bristle.  _Pan_ had liked to play games.

The barmaid set as fresh mug of ale in from of Killian.  He looked up, blinking.

“Thank you, lass, but I didn’t order another,” he said, holding up his half-finished drink.

“It’s on me,” said a friendly voice as a scruffy man with blue eyes took the stool to Killian’s right.

“Thanks, mate, but…”

Killian let the words die as the blue-eyed man conspicuously set his own mug on the bar with his right hand, clearly displaying a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. 

“Thanks mate, but..?” Robin Hood repeated with an amused smile.

“But I can pay for my own drinks,” Killian finished in a less irritated tone.

“Oh?” Robin replied, “And here I thought the king was buying your drinks.”

“Aye,” Killian said, falling into an easy banter.  “I said I _can_ pay for my own, mate, not that I was.”

“Fair enough,” Robin laughed, his face warm and friendly.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Killian said, raising an eyebrow at the thief.

“Yes, you have,” Robin said, not quite teasing.  “You’ve made a decent showing at it, too.  Very tenacious.”  Robin held up his mug as if toasting Killian’s tenacity.  “But what I can’t suss out is _why_.  I hardly believe that _you_ would be looking to join my band.”

The two men examined each other for a moment before Killian spoke.

“You could always ask,” Killian said cheekily, taking a drink from his ale.

“I suppose I could,” Robin mused, tilting back his own beverage.

“I’m—”

“Killian Jones,” Robin said, surprising Killian.

“You’ve heard of me,” Killian said warily. 

“That I have,” Robin said with a knowing smirk.  “It seems our reputations precede us.”

Killian made no reply, watching the jovial thief for a moment.  He felt like the green-clad man had him at a disadvantage, and Killian didn’t like that.  He far preferred a fair fight.

“Killian Jones,” Robin repeated in a matter-of-fact tone, gesturing with his glass, “formerly Lieutenant Jones of his majesty’s navy.  Captain of the Jolly Roger, formerly the Jewel of the Realm.  Sailor turned pirate captain.”

Killian was surprised that anyone knew let alone remembered his story.  He’d been away from the Enchanted Forest for a long time.

“Is it my turn to give your life story, then?” Killian asked warily.  He was still uncomfortable.  Robin had caught him off his guard.

“You could," Robin said in a teasing tone, "but that would be boring.  Everyone here knows my tale, but _yours_...  Well, your tale is _old_ , and that is far more interesting.”

“And yet you seem to know it,” Killian pointed out, intrigued but also tiring of this game.

“That I do,” Robin declared.  “And I heard it from someone who knows—from someone who was there.”

Robin paused to grin at Killian.

“Piqued your interest now, haven’t I?” Robin cajoled.

“I’m listening,” Killian said carefully.

“My great uncle, Geof, served on the Jewel,” Robin said conspiratorially, leaning in.

Killian rocked back a bit.

“Geof,” Killian said wistfully, remembering a blue-eyed fellow not unlike the man sitting next to him now.

“He was left behind when you sailed to another realm,” Robin said, taking another drink.

“He was visiting home,” Killian mused quietly.  “And I wasn’t in a particularly patient mood when I set sail.  Several crew members were left behind in my haste.”

“Uncle Geof regretted missing the adventure, but he never spoke ill of you—or your brother, of course.  Far from it.  It was ‘Captain Jones’ this and ‘Captain Jones’ that for my entire childhood,” Robin said, grinning in fond remembrance.  “So imagine my surprise when you turn up looking for me.  It’s like a scene from a dream or the page of a child’s story.”

Killian blinked at that.  He wasn’t the sort of man about whom stories should be told.  He was a traitor—a pirate.  A villain.  Little boys shouldn’t _look up_ to him.

“You’re the reason I’ve become the man I am today,” Robin said in a quieter tone, looking serious for a moment.

“I inspired a nobleman’s son to turn thief,” Killian muttered, his voice raw.  He frowned into his ale.

“That is one way to look at it,” Robin said easily, leaning back. “Or you inspired him to refuse to serve a dishonest master and to protect those who had no voice.”

Killian’s eyes widened at that.  He didn't know what to say.

“So,” Robin continued, “please do me the honor of letting me buy you a drink.”

Killian bowed his head in acceptance.

One drink became two, and then there had been cards, dice, and a raucous round of songs.  After several hours, the two inebriated outlaws were slouching near the hearth of the tavern.  It was well after midnight and most other patrons had retired or been carted off.

“So, why have you come looking for me?” Robin asked with just the slightest hint of a slur in his voice.

“You’d hardly believe me if I told you,” Killian replied, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Now, Jones—do you mind if I call you Jones?” Robin said.  “I’ve spent the last several hours drinking ale with a ninety-something year old man who happens to look ten years younger than I do and who used to order my great uncle to scrape barnacles off the hull of his ship.  Are you really worried about my skepticism?” 

Killian smirked at that.

“Fair point well made,” Killian said.  “But are you sure you’ll remember this conversation in the morning?”

“Perhaps I won’t,” Robin said with an easy grin, “but perhaps that’s the reason I'm asking.”

Killian cocked an eyebrow, but Robin just looked at him expectantly.  The thief made a “go on” gesture with one hand when Killian didn’t immediately speak.

Killian took a deep breath.

“There’s a former fairy who believes that you are the True Love of the Evil Queen.  She wishes you to come to the castle to woo her in order to save the kingdom.”

Robin blinked a few times before he gave himself a little shake.

“Oh?  Is that all?” Robin said with a dry laugh.

“That’s the heart of it,” Killian replied.

“I think I need another drink,” Robin said with a sigh.

* * *

Emma almost felt re-acclimated to her old life after a month, but her return to royal routine was rocky.  She felt completely out of place between flashes of happiness at being home, but she was genuinely glad that her return had lifted the curse.  From what she was able to discover of its effects, the curse had spread over the entire kingdom.  Everyone had awoken each day as though it were still Emma’s sixteenth birthday.  As the day went on, people tended to remember things that changed. 

Snow White’s cursed days had all been differentiated by Regina.  The Evil Queen had arrived to taunt Snow at different times or in different ways every day to ensure she’d remember every agonizing moment.  David remembered almost as many days as his wife, but too many of his involved trying to comfort an inconsolable Snow White.  Years of that had blurred together.

The palace staff seemed to remember several months worth of days, but the further from the palace you went, the fewer days people remembered.       

Emma felt uncomfortable interacting with so many people after her years of solitude in Neverland.  To avoid awkwardness, she tried to hide in her rooms whenever she could.  Snow White quickly caught on and made every arrangement to disallow Emma from staying on her own.  After two days, the maids were forbidden to bring Emma’s breakfast to her room.  Instead Emma had to come down to eat with her parents and whatever guests her father had invited.  Neal was always there, assigned to the seat nearest Emma.  He made polite conversation and kept accidentally touching her.  He’d reach for the jam at the same moment she did, or his fingers would linger when he passed her the salt.  Each touch sent a little jolt through her, and she couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. 

Neal also seemed to be following Emma throughout the day.  When she went to the gardens to think, he’d happen to stroll by.  When she decided to take a ride, his horse was being saddled, too, as though he’d just happen to choose to ride exactly when she did.  It should have been sweet, but Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something disingenuous about the situation.  She couldn’t quite place it.  Neal seemed sincere, even adamant, but the way they were being thrown together felt unnatural.

Emma was able to talk to Neal, which was something she’d missed in Neverland.  She and Neal had always been close, and she was glad that their closeness hadn’t been completely destroyed by their separation.  Emma wasn’t able to share everything about Neverland, even with her oldest friend.  He just couldn’t ever really understand what it had been like.  No one in the palace could, but Neal did seem to listen to what Emma was able to say. 

On the seventh day after the ball, it turned out to be serendipitous for Neal to ride with her.  Emma’s sorrel mare threw a shoe when they were several leagues from the palace.  Neal immediately offered for Emma to join him on his dapple gray.  

Emma let Neal pull her up to sit behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as they’d done when they were children.  She pressed her cheek to his shoulder and closed her eyes, relaxing into the steady movement of the horse’s pace.  She felt warm, safe, and completely relaxed as they rode back to the palace.

The next morning, she was in a sitting room with her mother, both working on needlepoint.  Snow White had decided it was something that the two of them should do together. 

 “It’s so nice to see you and Neal spending time with each other,” Snow White said as she knotted her thread.  “You look so perfect together.”

“Mm,” Emma responded noncommittally, stabbing her needle into the fabric held taut by her embroidery hoop.

“It reminds me of the early days of your father and my courtship,” Snow mused with a sigh and a dreamy smile.

Emma frowned.

“How?” she asked in disbelief.  “You met in the forest and you hit him with a rock.”

Snow blinked, her smile faltering for a second.

“It’s just so nice to see a young couple in love,” she said with a slight huffiness to her voice.  She clipped the end of her thread with a little blade and changed the subject.  “We should have another ball, soon.  You and Neal didn’t even get to dance at the last one.  In fact, you didn’t get to dance with anyone at all at the last ball!”

“I danced with Father and Hoo—Prince Killian,” Emma protested.

“Yes, but those were the ceremonial dances,” Snow said.  “You didn’t get to dance with anybody else.”

Snow White rolled her eyes purposefully to the man entering the room.  Neal bowed neatly to the seated women and strode across the room to the desk near the window.  He sat down and began drafting a letter. 

 A few minutes later, Mr. Carson entered the room and announced that a knight was returning to the palace.  Emma dropped her embroidery hoop and ran to the window.  Neal was at her side in a second.  Emma leaned out the window, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun.  Her heart sped up when she saw the black-clad rider on his dark steed.  He was wearing his hook, which Emma guessed wouldn’t last long in the palace.  Mr. Carson wouldn’t allow such things in _his_ house. 

Emma watched Killian ride gracefully toward the palace, her chest feeling tight.  With the sigh, she finally tore her eyes from him and looked at the other people on the road.  Killian rode beside a simple wagon.  The man driving the wagon was a handsome, roguish man with an easy smile.  A boy sat beside him, talking animatedly.  Several dissimilarly featured men rode in the wagon.  None to the riders seemed as happy as the man and boy sitting on the perch.

Emma leaned a little farther over the ledge as the riders went around to the gatehouse, but the angle didn’t give her a view.  She spun around, just catching Neal’s frown as she hiked up her skirts and dashed past him to make her way downstairs.  Snow White called after her, but Emma paid her no mind.  She made it to the balcony overlooking the main entry when the men entered.  Emma stopped there, looking down on the assembled welcoming committee of staff and dignitaries. 

King David met the travelers personally, clapping Killian on the back after he and the other men made their bows and introductions.  The boy, Roland, turned out to be Robin’s son.  The other men were part of his band.

Emma didn’t get a chance to say anything to anyone before Killian and the merry men were being escorted off to guest rooms.  She did catch Killian’s eye at one point, and his smile made Emma’s stomach do a little flip.

Neal caught up to her as the servants ushered everyone off to their respective places.

“What’d I miss?” he asked.

“Prince Killian brought Robin Hood and some of his men,” Emma told him.  “I should go tell Tinkerbell.”

Emma dashed back up the stairs.

“Send one of the servants!” Neal called after her in exasperation.

“I need to tell her myself,” Emma said over her shoulder. 

Neal was frowning again, but Emma couldn’t worry about that then.  She lifted her skirts and sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time when she could.  She knew she’d find Tinkerbell in the tower where Regina was being kept.  The pixie seemed to spend most of her time there.

“He’s back!” Emma gasped as she crested the landing. 

Tinkerbell’s head snapped up from where she’d been reading a book.  She was sitting cross-legged on the floor near the archway to Regina’s chamber.  Two dwarves stood guard nearby. 

“Has the mission been successful?” Tinkerbell asked, clearly trying to convey secrecy with her expression.

“Yes,” Emma breathed.

Regina sat up from where she’d been reclining. 

“What’s going on?” The dark-haired woman asked, looking between the pixie and the princess with suspicion.

“Swan’s—I mean Princess Emma’s… uh, one of the knights has returned to the palace,” Tinkerbell said.

“Princess Emma’s _what_?” Regina asked, narrowing her eyes.  Her words echoes Emma’s own thought.

“Knight,” Tinkerbell repeated precisely. 

Regina cocked an eyebrow and gave Emma an appraising look from the hem of her skirt to her loosely tied hair. 

“Right,” she drawled, rolling her eyes and leaning back against the wall.

Emma frowned at the woman who was now ignoring her.  The princess’s gaze was drawn automatically to the invisible bonds that held Regina’s magic at bay.  The leafy vines that Emma had cast had been replaced by solid bands of magic created by the blue fairy.  The fairy came once a day to recast the spell, ensuring that Regina was properly restrained.  The woman was surprisingly frail, physically.  She’d clearly spent too many years relying on just her magic.  Emma had heard that she’d thrown a tantrum when she’d awoken and found herself in the tower and cut off from her power.  Regina had screamed and thrown things, but she hadn’t been able to damage anything larger or sturdier than dishes and pottery.

Tinkerbell was gesturing, waving a hand to get Emma’s attention, and the movement caught Emma’s eye, pulling it away from Regina. 

“Did you get to speak with him?” Tinkerbell asked, and Emma wasn’t sure which _him_ Tinkerbell meant.

“No,” Emma said.  “Father did, and he sent them with the servants to clean up and settle in.”

“Ah,” Tinkerbell said, “Well, I’m sure you’ll get your chance soon enough.”

Emma’s brow crinkled at that.  Did the fairy mean Robin or Killian? 

“Off with you, then,” the pixie said with a little smile before returning to her book.

Emma cocked an eyebrow but made no comment.  She turned around and started the long descent down from the tower.

* * *

Emma was able to speak to both Killian and Robin at dinner. 

Killian was seated to her right, in the spot usually occupied by Neal.  Neal had been moved across the table to break up the official couples and facilitate conversation among guests, as was custom at formal dinner parties.  Neal sat between Robin Hood and Tinkerbell, who’d been invited in case Robin had any questions.

“You look lovely this evening, your royal highness,” Killian murmured over Emma’s hand before she took her seat.  Her cheeks went pink at the compliment.

Emma was barely able to whisper a “thank you” before King David was asking about the quest.

Killian and Robin obligingly told the story of their meeting and journey to the palace, amusing everyone at the table.  Robin had led Killian on a merry goose chase before revealing himself.  Then the two had worked together on a problem for one of Robin’s men, a Little John.  After that, Robin and several of his men had agreed to return with Killian to the palace.  Killian almost sheepishly explained that he’d offered the men pardons for their previous banditry and requested the removal of a particular sheriff from his post.  David just nodded, seeming more than happy to go along with whatever Killian had promised.

During a brief lull in the conversation, Emma asked Robin about his son, who was not in attendance.

 “This supper was a bit late for the lad,” Robin answered with a smile. 

“You have a child?” Snow White asked with curiosity.

“I do, your majesty,” Robin replied. “A boy, called Roland.”

“Where is his mother?” the queen inquired.

“She is unfortunately gone from this world,” Robin said with a wistful turn of his lips.  “My Marian suffered the fits some women do in childbirth and did not survive but to see and name our son.”

“I’m so sorry,” Snow White said. 

The conversation eventually lightened to happier topics, and smaller discussions broke out around the table as people turned to speak to those sitting near them.  Neal peppered Robin with questions for most of the meal, which let Emma devote some time to a side conversation with Killian. 

“You seem to be adjusting well to your new position,” Emma said to Killian.

“Does that surprise you?”Killian replied good-naturedly. 

“You are a pirate,” she murmured with a mischievous smile.

He grinned at her in reply, his tongue stuck between his teeth.

“And how are you adjusting?” he asked after the footmen came round with dessert.

“As well as can be expected,” Emma said, her eyes flicking unconsciously to Neal.  When she looked at Killian again, his mouth had tightened into a line. 

“Emma, dear,” Snow said, pulling her attention, “wasn’t I just telling you that we should hold another ball?”

“Yes, Mother, just this afternoon,” Emma replied dutifully.  Then she dropped her voice to mutter, “sometimes I wish I could go back to my cave.”

Killian choked on his wine.

Emma looked at him sideways and found him staring at her with a raised eyebrow. 

“You all right, there, Jones?” King David asked. 

“Aye, your majesty,” Killian replied with a small cough.

“Good,” David said.  “It seems we’ll soon be celebrating your actions again.  Hopefully this time without such… colorful interruptions.”

“I was quite satisfied with the outcome of the last ball, your majesty,” Killian said, gesturing lazily with his wine cup.  Neal muttered something in response, but Emma didn’t catch the words.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to do more dancing, this time,” David said with a friendly grin.  “There were many disappointed ladies at the end of that night.”

Killian chuffed, setting down his goblet.

“I had already danced with the two loveliest ladies in attendance and been knighted and princed,” Killian quipped.  “My night could not have been improved upon, your majesty.”

Emma’s brow crinkled.  Killian hadn’t danced with anyone else after his dances with her and her mother?  Emma had seen the way the other ladies had looked at him that night.  How could they not?  Why hadn’t he enjoyed himself?

“Be that as it may,” David said, “I expect you to be on the dance floor more than twice at this next ball.”

“As your majesty commands,” Killian intoned, bowing his head over his plate.

Killian turned his head a little, so only Emma could see his face clearly and he winked at her.

“I make no promises about the diversity of my dance partners,” Killian continued at a conversational volume.  “I find I am quite particular in my tastes.”

He was still looking at her as he said the words, and Emma’s eyes widened in response.  She tore her eyes away from him to look around the table.  Neal was frowning, Snow looked concerned, David and Robin looked amused, and Tinkerbell was shaking her head with a little smile.  Emma imagined that the pixie had just recently rolled her eyes at the pirate.

Neal looked like he was about to say something, but Tinkerbell put a hand on his arm and drew his attention.  When he turned to look at the former fairy, he seemed surprised, as though he hadn’t realized she was sitting there.

Tinkerbell asked him something, though Emma didn’t catch the question because Killian was asking her one of his own.

“Hm?” she said, turning her eyes to the black-clad man beside her.

His countenance had gone dark again.  He could be so moody.

“Never mind, your highness,” he muttered.  “I can see your thoughts are otherwise occupied.”

He emptied his wine glass and held it to be refilled.

“Do you know any dances beyond the waltz?” Emma asked Killian, trying to distract him from whatever had befouled his mood.

“Of course I do,” he muttered, still looking across the table instead of at Emma.

“The gavotte?” Emma asked.

“Aye,” he said.

“Quadrille?” she said.

“Several forms,” he sighed.

“A tarantella?” she asked, fighting a grin.

“A tarantella?” he said, his eyes finally finding hers.  He looked surprised.  “Aye, I know the tarantella.”

“And can you reel?” Emma pressed.

His face opened up a little bit, and Emma saw the hint of a smile.

“Why are you so intent on learning which dances I know, your highness?” he asked, his expression speculative.

“Stop calling me that,” she said, wrinkling her nose a bit but keeping her eyes in a soft expression.

“What shall I call you then, love?” he said, raising an eyebrow and repeating the words he’d spoken to her in Neverland.

Emma but her lip, a smile slowly creeping across her face.  Killian was watching her intently.

Before she got a chance to answer, King David stood, drawing all eyes.

“I think it’s time we let the ladies go through,” he said.

Emma and all the other ladies immediately stood and began moving toward the drawing room.  Killian caught Emma’s hand as she walked past his chair.

“Emma,” he murmured, not quite a question, his eyes searching.

She gave him a little smile in response but made no verbal reply. 

Emma didn’t look back as she left the room, but she could feel eyes on her the entire way.


	13. Chapter 13

Emma was nervous.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so jittery, even in Neverland.  She stood in front of her mirror, fidgeting while Gwen tucked the last wisps of her hair into place.  Emma smoothed the skirts of her gown with trembling hands.  The dress was a deep, dark green embroidered with darker and lighter shades of the same color.  The pattern was all leaves and vines, which made Emma feel a little like a walking beanstalk, but Gwen assured her that she looked beautiful. 

The maid set her tiara in place and wound a few actual strands of cut ivy through the plaits and curls at the back of Emma’s elaborate coiffure.  Gwen kept grinning as she dressed and coiffed the princess, but she refused to tell Emma what had her so giddy. 

“There,” Gwen said, standing back. 

Emma gave herself a once-over in the looking glass, taking a deep breath. 

“Thank you, Gwen,” she said quietly, turning to smile at the red-haired maid.

Gwen beamed at the princess.

There was a light rap on the door, followed by Neal’s voice.

“Emma,” he said, “are you ready to go down?”

Gwen went to the door and gave Emma an expectant look, and Emma nodded.  Gwen opened the door.

Neal was dressed all in greens and browns, but the colors were not quite matched to her gown.  The green of Neal’s jacket was a grassier, bright shade.  It suited him, but it almost clashed with the deep gem tones of Emma’s dress.  Emma was a little surprised at that.  Usually the staff was almost devious in their ability to ensure couples were dressed to match one another.

Neal looked Emma over from head to foot and then offered her his arm.

Emma put her hand through Neal’s arm and let him lead her down to the ballroom.

* * *

Killian was nervous.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so jittery, even in Neverland.  He stood in his rooms, letting Thomas fuss about the final details of his ensemble. 

The new vest fit beautifully.  While Killian had been off fetching Robin Hood, Thomas had ordered copies of his red vest made in nearly every shade of fabric the kingdom possessed.  The one Thomas had insisted on dressing Killian in for the ball was a deep green with embroidered leaves and vines.  Something about the garment clearly amused Thomas, but Killian couldn’t get the man to say what it was. 

Beneath the vest, Killian wore a silk shirt of purest white.  It was slick and lighter than any garment Killian had ever worn.  He thought he could get used to wearing silk.

Thomas had also ordered a few copies of Killian’s coat in rich fabrics, but Killian was not willing to forgo his leather just yet. 

“There we are, sir,” Thomas said, making a final adjustment to Killian’s lapels. 

“How do I look, Thomas?” Killian asked, inspecting himself in the mirror.

“Devilishly handsome, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Thomas said with a grin.

“Let’s hope you’re not the only one who thinks so,” Killian replied with a grin of his own.

He clapped the valet on the shoulder as he left the room, off to find the pixie he'd been charged with escorting.  Killian found Tinkerbell in the hall outside the ballroom.  She was dressed in a shimmering bright green gown with paler green panels that had sparkling threads woven through them.  The whole outfit was ethereal, light and fluttery.  Her hair was pulled up into a crown of curls. 

“Lady Bell,” Killian intoned, favoring her with a stately bow.  “His majesty the king bid me escort you in for the grand procession.”

“Yes, yes,” Tinkerbell said, swishing her skirts.  “This is all a little ridiculous, though, don’t you think?”

“I far prefer it to dodging poisoned Lost Boy arrows, don’t you?” Killian murmured as he took Tinkerbell’s arm.

“I suppose,” the former pixie said with a frown.  “I’d rather stay with Regina.”

Killian gave a tight smile. 

“How goes the reformation?” Killian asked.

Tinkerbell scowled.

“Robin’s come up to see her several times, now, but they don’t seem to get along well at all,” the fairy complained.  “Maybe I was wrong about them being right for one another.  Or maybe too much time has passed…”

“Or perhaps they’ve just met and need some time to get to know one another,” Killian countered.  “It’s only been a week, lass.  Give them some time.”

Tinkerbell sighed. 

They went through the doors and the herald announced them to the room.  Killian’s eyes went immediately to the royal dais, where Emma sat on her cushioned seat to the left of the king’s throne.  All four of the resident royals were already seated in a row, Emma, David, Snow, and Neal.  Emma was looking at him, as were David and Neal.  Killian couldn’t fight his smile or chuckle when he saw the princess’s deep green gown and Neal’s clashing coat. 

“What?” Tinkerbell asked.

“It seems the maids and valets have chosen sides,” Killian murmured, mostly to himself as he looked between Emma, Neal, Tinkerbell, and himself. 

“What?” Tinkerbell repeated, frowning at Killian and clearly not understanding his remark.

“Do you know the steps for a quadrille?” Killian said, changing the subject.

“I think so,” Tinkerbell said, frowning a little, “why?”

“So we can dance, of course,” he said with a grin.

Tinkerbell narrowed her eyes at him.

“What are you plotting, Hook?” she asked.

He just smiled in reply.

* * *

Emma sat bored through the grand procession, her eyes constantly flitting to the black-clad pirate-knight-prince with a former fairy on his arm.  When his turn came at the front of the queue, he locked eyes with her as he bowed deeply.  Tinkerbell made a lovely curtsey next to him, her own eyes on Neal.  Maybe she’d noticed how their outfits went together.  If Emma didn’t know better, she’d say the staff had dressed the pixie to match her fiancé, or visa versa.  She wasn’t close enough to tell, but it also looked as though Killian’s vest was made of the exact same material as her own gown.  She knew that Thomas had been assigned as Killian’s valet, and Thomas had a wry sense of humor—but where had he gotten the fabric?  Maybe he’d bribed Gwen.

Emma mused about the topic as her parents took the opening dance, waltzing sweetly across the marble floor.  When they finished, Neal offered her his hand for the next dance, and Emma took it.  Neal wasn’t nearly as smooth a dancer as either Killian or her father, but he knew the steps.  He danced the waltz exactly the same way every time without any extemporaneous improvisation. 

After the waltzes, the band struck up the music for a lined quadrille, and Emma eagerly joined the nearest row, pulling Neal along with her.  The princess was pleased when Killian and Tinkerbell took the places across from them.  Killian’s eyes never seemed to leave hers during the dance.  When she skipped forward with Neal at her side and Killian and Tinkerbell met them in the middle of the line of dancers, Emma’s breath caught in her throat.  The second time they met in the center, they were so close that Emma could feel Killian’s breath on her cheek.  When it came to the point in the dance to switch partners, Emma’s pulse accelerated as Killian’s fingers curled around hers.  He pulled her to him almost greedily, his good hand gripping her tight. 

“You’ve stolen me,” she whispered teasingly to him as they marched to stand opposite Neal and Tinkerbell.

“Aye,” he breathed into her ear, “and I don’t intend to give you back.”

Emma gave a tiny gasp.

“But that’s part of the dance,” she protested, feeling her cheeks go pink. 

“Is it?” he mused.

She skipped into the center of the line with the other ladies, pressing her palm to Tinkerbell’s as they danced around each other and back to their original partners.  Killian’s eyes were still on her, boring into her with stormy intensity.  She swished her way around Neal and back to the center to spin again with Tinkerbell before rejoining Killian.

“May I have the next waltz?” he said in her ear as he promenaded with her, his good hand tracing idle patterns on her right shoulder as she held his wooden hand on her left hip.

“Yes,” she breathed.

He led her back to the center of the line and reluctantly gave her back to Neal.  Killian held her fingers as long as possible before letting her go.

Emma finished the dance with Neal, but she met Killian in the center several more times.  His eyes were so intense, and he stepped so close to her. 

When the music ended, Emma told Neal with all honesty that she needed some air.  Neal seemed more than willing to escort Emma out onto the balcony, but a visiting lord from his father’s kingdom hailed him and asked for a minute of his time.  Neal seemed reluctant to leave Emma’s side, but she gave him a reassuring smile and told him to go with the nobleman.  Neal kissed Emma’s hand before letting go of her and turning to give the visiting dignitary his attention.

Emma wove her way through the crowd as a lively reel began playing.  When she stepped through the half-opened door out onto the balcony, she let out a sigh.  The cool, salty air felt soothing against her flushed skin.  She walked out to the railing and rested her hands on the chilled stone.  She could hear the dull roar of the music and lively conversations and laughter in the ballroom.  A slight breeze pulled at her hair and skirt.  She stared out over the inky expanse of darkened ocean.  Each wave was crested in starlight, the foam a stark contrast to the blackness of the sea.

“Alone at last,” Killian murmured right into her ear, his breath tickling her neck. 

Emma hadn’t heard him approach, but she didn’t jump.  She turned around slowly, not fighting the smile that played over her lips. 

“We’ve been alone before,” she quipped, noticing how close he was and how they were both standing in the shadow of tower.  They’d be practically invisible to anyone still inside the ballroom.

“Aye,” he said easily, “but that was quite a while ago.”

His eyes were nearly black under the moonless sky.

She made no reply, but licked her lips, watching him carefully.

“You look beautiful by starlight, Swan,” he said quietly.  “ _Emma_.”

He took another step closer, making her heart start racing again.

“Killian,” she breathed, putting a trembling hand on his chest, feeling the embroidery of his vest.  It was identical to her dress.  They were perfectly matched.

He closed the gap between them, wrapping his left arm around her waist.  His fingers grazed her cheek before sliding down her neck and under her hair.  He cradled the back of her head, pulling her gently toward him.  She moved with him, lifting herself onto her tiptoes to meet his lips as they descended toward hers. 

She let her eyes flutter closed.  The kiss didn’t resemble either of the kind they had shared before.  It was neither chaste nor frenzied.  Killian kissed her with a sort of quiet intensity, his mouth moving against hers like a dance.  She responded eagerly, feeling heat spread through her, warming her veins.  When she opened her mouth to him, Killian’s fingers tightened on the back of her neck.  He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on it before flicking his tongue across it to meet hers.   She let out a little sound at that, not quite a sigh, and not quite a moan.  Killian groaned in response, pulling back, softening the kiss before pressing his forehead to hers. 

He seemed to enjoy that almost as much as kissing.  They rubbed noses, breathing each other’s breath for a minute.

“Emma,” he murmured in a raw, aching voice.  “Do you know how I adore you?”

Her heart leapt at the words, but she knew their dalliance was in vain.

“Killian, I’m promised to Neal,” she whispered.

“Aye,” he sighed, frowning.  “But does he make you feel like this?”

He kissed her again, harder this time.  She felt a little dizzy when he pulled back.

“We swore to King Midas…” Emma breathed, her voice trembling.

“Forget the king and marry me,” he pleaded.

“Killian,” she tried to admonish, but her voice was still thready.

“I’ve got no prospects or empire to offer you, Emma," he declared in a low, intent voice, "but I know what a prince and lover ought to be.”

Emma shivered at the word _lover_. She let her eyes close again as she tried to calm her stampeding heart. 

“Killian,” she said, opening her eyes and chewing on her lip.  Her brow furrowed.

“Go ahead, love,” he said with a small, almost brave smile.  He was expecting another rejection.

Emma took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.  She wasn’t sure how to say what she needed to say.  Honestly, she didn’t know what to do.

But then there was a collective gasp from inside the ballroom and the band came to a discordant stop.

Emma met Killian’s gaze, their expressions mirrors of wide-eyed alarm.  They turned as one to dash back into the ballroom to see what was wrong.  They instinctively guarded each other’s flank, stalking forward as a unit. 

No one seemed to notice them entering from the balcony.  All eyes were turned toward the main entrance.  Killian and Emma worked their way quickly through the crowd.  They had to jostle several people, but once they were recognized, a way was made for them.

King David and Snow White had come down from their dais and were also making their way toward the door.  As Emma and Killian passed the band, Killian saw one of the musicians was standing on his chair to get a better view.  His mouth was hanging open in shock at whatever it was he could see.

Killian had to physically move a noble out of their way when they arrived at the ring of on-lookers.  The crowd was thick and standing back, leaving a wide empty area between the party-goers and the new arrivals. 

It was Robin Hood and the witch. 

The thief was smirking, his right hand on Regina’s lower back, his left hand holding hers.  She was scowling, which was the only expression Killian had ever seen on the woman’s face.  Her hair was down, cascading prettily to her hips, but she wasn’t quite dressed for a ball.  She wore a simple cream-colored frock that was tied at the waist with a plain leather belt.  Robin was likewise dressed casually in browns and greens.  He was unarmed and seemed amused but exasperated by the situation. 

“Robin, what’s the meaning of this?” David was asking firmly but as quietly as possible as he approached the pair. 

Emma had stopped in surprise when they’d broken through the crowd.  She didn’t look scared, just uneasy.  Killian took his cue from her and relaxed his stance, but he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“We were just out for a stroll, your majesty,” Robin replied.  “We heard music and decided to investigate.”

“ _You_ decided to investigate,” Regina muttered, glaring at Robin.  “ _I_ wanted to go back to my cell.”

“Now, darling—” Robin began, but Regina cut him off with an icy look.

“If you call me that again, archer, I swear I will strangle you to death with your own bowstring,” Regina said.

“Regina,” Robin drawled, clearly fighting a smile, “you say the sweetest things.”

The dark-haired woman rolled her eyes, but Killian thought he saw the tiniest upward twist of her lips.  Killian had to fight his own smile. 

Looking around, it seemed that David had also realized the banter was friendly.  Snow White was still shocked by Regina’s presence.  Emma seemed likewise stunned.

There was a rustle in the crowd on the opposite side of the room and then Prince Neal burst through with Tinkerbell hot on his heels.  They both looked flustered and Neal’s shirt wasn’t properly tucked.  Killian’s eyebrows raised at that.

Robin was speaking again, so Killian turned back to the thief.

“Come now, Regina, won’t you do me the honor of dancing with me?” he was saying, giving the dark-haired witch a genuine pout.

“This is ridiculous,” Regina spat back, but her eyes didn’t match the venom of her words.  “There isn’t even any music playing.”

David turned and gave the upraised band member a signal.  There was a little bit of commotion and then music began haltingly, slowly harmonizing into a stately waltz. 

Robin took a step back and bowed deeply over Regina’s hand.  When he rose, his eyes were glinting mischievously.  Regina didn’t curtsey, but she let the thief gather her into his arms and lead her out onto the floor. 

Emma and Snow both still seemed to be in shock, but David was grinning.  The king caught Killian’s eye and gave him a little nod. 

“I believe you promised me this dance, love,” Killian murmured to Emma, who tore her eyes away from Regina to blink at him in surprise.

He pulled her to him and she mechanically followed his lead, letting him move them out onto the floor, her eyes flicking over his shoulder to watch the thief and the witch.  Slowly, she warmed up, moving with more easy grace than stiff body memory.

After a few twirls, Killian saw David pull Snow White into the proper position and they also joined the dance. 

Other couples eventually joined in, but the majority of the crowd just gawked.  Some people made discrete (or less than discrete) exits. 

“They look… well, not _happy_ , but… right,” Emma said as Killian twirled her around Robin and Regina.

“Like us?” Killian mused, half to himself.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, meeting his eyes.

He spun her instead of answering right away.

“Unhappy but right, Emma,” he said.  “ _We_ should be together.  I know you must feel it, too.”

Emma let out a drawn-out sigh.

 “Killian, I have to marry Neal,” she protested, her face scrunched in apparent pain.

“Why?” he begged, searching her eyes.

“King George bankrupted this kingdom.  Regina stopped trading with him when she first came to power, but he kept spending money until the coffers were empty,” Emma explained, her voice full of emotion.  “We _need_ an alliance with King Midas to rebuild our country, Killian, people are starving.”

Killian frowned.

“Quite passionate, Swan,” Killian whispered.  “How wealthy is this Midas?”

“Everything he touches turns to gold,” Emma sighed.

“That’s quite a figure of speech, love, but—”

“No, literally,” Emma interrupted.  “He suffers from a curse.  Anything he touches is instantly turned to gold.  He had to make a deal with a magician to have a second child after his daughter ran away with a knight.  It’s why Neal was fostered with us.  Midas was scared the boy would embrace him one day and become a statue.”

“Oh,” Killian breathed, quite surprised.  He frowned thoughtfully.

“So, I have to do my duty,” Emma continued, her brow crinkling.  “How can I weigh my personal happiness against that of the entire realm?”

He made no reply because he didn’t know what to say.

“If I was just Emma,” she murmured, “If I was just… your Swan—” She blushed and looked down, her eyelashes fluttering.  Killian’s pulse sped up.  “—it would be different.”

She took a deep breath and met his gaze again, her expression grave.

“But I’m not,” Emma declared.  “I’m a princess, and I must do what is right.”

He swallowed, letting her words wash over him.  

“Quite right,” Killian sighed.  “Good form.”

He spun her again, frowning darkly.  He had no idea how to change her situation.  He didn’t even know if it was possible. 

But he knew he had to try, for his own sake as well as hers.


	14. Chapter 14

“Lady Bell,” Killian said as he came upon the pixie in a palace hallway. 

Her spine stiffened in response.  She spun around slowly. 

 “Hook,” she said carefully, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You’ve been avoiding me, love,” he said in a low voice, “why is that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her eyes shifting around nervously, never landing on anything for more than a second.

“Tink,” he said in an exasperated tone, raising an eyebrow.

She heaved a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You know why,” she hissed between clenched teeth as she scanned the hallway for eavesdroppers.  “You _saw_ us.”

“You mean I saw the evidence of your dalliance with Swan’s fiancé?” Killian said.

“Keep your voice down,” Tink gritted out.  “It’s bad enough that half the staff knows.”

“Ahh,” Killian mused, scratching his chin, “that explains the game with the clothes for the ball.”

“Yes,” Tink sighed with a frown.  “Your valet dislikes Neal.”

“The man has excellent taste,” Killian quipped.

“Shame on you,” Tink admonished.  “Neal’s a good man.”

“Oh, aye, infidelity is certainly _good form_ ,” Killian sneered.

“Like you’re doing with Emma?” she taunted back.

Killian crossed his arms over his chest.

“Pirate,” Killian declared, popping the T at the end of the word as he leaned forward. 

“I thought you were a man of honour?” Tinkerbell accused.

“More so than  _Neal_ ,” Killian muttered, leaning back and uncrossing his arms.  Her words had cut him, but he refused to let her know that.

“You don’t know anything about him,” Tinkerbell said, raising her voice a little.  “You’re just upset because he’s between you and what you want!”

“Then shouldn’t you be getting him out of my way?” Killian said darkly, leaning in again.

“You don’t frighten me, _Captain,_ ” Tink retorted.

“It’s clearly in _both_ our best interest for—” Killian began.

“Shh!” Tink interrupted.  “Someone’s coming.”

The pirate and the pixie took a step back from each other and turned to see Robin and Regina come around the corner.

“Ah, Tinkerbell, good morning,” Robin said warmly, dipping his head and shoulders in a little bow, his hand holding Regina’s hand in the crook of his other elbow.  “And Killian, good to see you.”

The thief nodded at Killian, making no indication if he’d overheard Killian’s argument with Tinkerbell.

Killian nodded back, his eyes flitting to the dark-haired woman on his arm.

“Good morning,” Tinkerbell replied to Robin before also turning to the former evil queen.  “Regina, how are you feeling this morning?”

“Like a prisoner,” Regina said in an icy tone, a grimace of a smile crossing her face.  She looked sideways at Robin for a moment.  “With an insufferable gaoler.”

Robin favored her with a sunny smile.

“I’m winning you over, I can feel it,” he said cheerfully.

Regina’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re pretty face buys you a lot,” she told Robin, “but your charms don’t work on me.”

Killian got the feeling that his charms were working just fine.

“Regina,” Tinkerbell said, “I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced to Killian Jones?”

“The pirate that brought back the princess?” Regina said, giving Killian a once-over with her lips pursed.

“I’m a prince, now,” Killian quipped, “hadn’t you heard?”

“Prince of what?” Regina taunted, arching an eyebrow.  “Wishful thinking?”

Killian was not in the mood.  He took a step forward, but Tinkerbell caught his arm.

“Where are you two headed?” Tinkerbell asked Robin, changing the subject.

“We’re going down to see Roland,” Robin said with an easy smile.  “He has a riding lesson this morning.  King David is a most generous host.”

Regina’s whole demeanor seemed to soften at the name of the boy.

“Oh, that sounds lovely!” Tinkerbell exclaimed.  “Then we shouldn’t keep you.”

She gripped Killian’s arm tighter and tried to drag him past the other couple.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Regina said, letting Robin lead her away from the pixie and the pirate.

Killian’s eyes narrowed and he almost stopped, but Tinkerbell dug her nails into Killian’s elbow, making him wince.  Robin bid them both a good day as they passed each other in the wide hall.

“Take a breath,” Tinkerbell whispered to Killian after a moment. 

“That woman,” he started, gritting his teeth as he spoke.

“Is going downstairs, and you’re going up,” Tinkerbell said.

“And why should I do that?” Killian asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because Emma’s alone in the library,” the pixie said pointedly before releasing Killian’s arm and marching off in the opposite direction.

Killian closed his mouth after a moment, mildly embarrassed that it had fallen open.  He turned toward the stairwell and began sprinting up the steps.

* * *

Emma sighed and started back at the top of the page she had failed to read for the third time.  She kept getting lost in her thoughts as her eyes roved over the words without absorbing them.  She’d assumed that reading would be a good distraction, but she wasn’t sure now.

It was nice to be alone, though.  There wasn’t even a footman in the library with her, which was odd, but welcome.  Solitude was rare outside her bed chamber.

The door creaked open and Emma sighed, her back to the door.  Of course she’d conjured trouble by thinking about how nice it was without company.  She didn’t bother to look at who’d come in.  If it was a member of the staff, they wouldn’t want to have disturbed her, and if it wasn’t, then whoever it was would surely announce his or herself presently.

The door creaked shut a moment later.

A footman, then, or maybe a maid had poked her head in, seen Emma, and left.  Silence fell, but Emma suddenly felt as if eyes were on her.  That wasn’t common with the servants.  They never stared.

She straightened her back and turned around slowly as she heard boots approaching her across the stone floor.  When she saw it was Killian, her mouth fell open and she stood, her forgotten book tumbling to the floor.  She stepped over it and around the corner of the sofa on which she’d been sitting.  Her eyes darted around the room, but there was no one else.  She was alone with her pirate.

He strode straight to her, his face a mask of determination.  He reached for her, and she willingly took his hands.  He surprised her by pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug.  Her arms went automatically around his neck, and then his mouth crashed into hers.

She melted into his embrace, eagerly reciprocating his kiss.  Her fingers threaded into his hair, marveling at how soft it was.  His left arm tightened around her, pulling her closer to him, as his right hand ghosted up her back to gently cradle her neck.

Killian sucked Emma’s lower lip into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and making her gasp.  He took advantage of her surprise, deepening the kiss, and slipping his tongue into her mouth.  She moaned at that, feeling him shiver at the sound.  Killian’s tongue moved against hers, flicking and stroking in a rhythm that made Emma feel heat shoot through her, right to the pit of her abdomen.  It made her light-headed, so she clutched Killian tighter as her knees went to jelly.

After a minute, Killian pulled back just far enough to let Emma breathe, keeping their foreheads and noses in contact.  He held her up as she panted, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of her neck.

“Good morning, love,” he murmured huskily, his eyes still closed.  His chest was rising and falling as quickly as Emma’s was.

“Good morning,” Emma breathed in reply, a smile playing across her lips.  Her cheeks were flushed and she still felt a little giddy.

“I’ve missed you,” he said gently, pulling back to stroke her cheek.  She slid her hands down to his chest, wrapping her fingers around the lapels of his coat.

“You saw me last night at dinner,” Emma teased. 

“From across the table,” Killian pouted.  “I miss being close to you; having you all to myself.”

Emma drew back, scandalized.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” she admonished, eyes wide. “We shouldn’t even be doing this.  If someone finds us…”

She stepped back, putting space between their bodies, though she kept hold of his coat.

“You could still run away with me, Swan,” he said with a wistful smile.  She could tell that he knew it wasn’t really an option by the way his eyes crinkled with sadness.

“You know I can’t do that,” she said gently. 

“Aye,” he replied, looking down.  His shoulders and face fell in unison.

She tucked two fingers under his chin and gently pressed up until he was looking at her again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to convey all she felt in the simple words.  She looked back and forth between his eyes.

“Don’t say that like it’s goodbye, Swan,” he choked.

She gave him a small, fragile smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

“Swan,” he repeated as she took another step back, breaking all contact between them.  She began to walk around him toward the door.

“Emma,” he pleaded, raising a hand to reach for her.  She flinched away and he dropped his arm.

She didn’t look back as she opened the door, but she did pause when she heard him speak.

“I’ll figure it out, Emma,” Killian said with determination.  “I’ll find a way.”

His words touched her, but she didn’t see how it could possibly work.  Princess Emma didn’t have any options, and Swan didn’t exist anymore, not really.  She was stuck.  Trapped.  A bird in a gilded cage.

She felt tears prickling the corners of her eyes.  She straightened her back and walked out of the library.

* * *

Later that night, Snow White and Emma sat alone in Emma’s bed chamber as Snow White brushed her daughter’s hair.

“Mother,” Emma said cautiously, “you’ve always told me to do the right thing and to follow my heart.”

“That’s right,” Snow White said.  Emma could almost hear the beaming smile.

“What if those are two different things?” Emma ventured.

The brush in Snow’s hand stopped.  Emma heard Snow take a slow breath before speaking. 

“Emma, following your heart _is_ the right thing,” she said patiently, beginning to run the bristles through Emma’s golden locks again.  “You have goodness in your heart, and it won’t lead you down the wrong path.”

“But what if it does?” Emma protested, pulling away far enough to turn around and look at her mother.  “What is my heart wants something that I know isn’t the _right_ thing?”

Snow frowned.

“Honey, I don’t think that’s possible,” Snow White soothed, setting down the brush.  “I know you, and I know your heart wouldn’t lead you astray.”

Emma chewed on her lip.

“What’s this about, Emma?” Snow White asked.

Emma shook her head. 

“Nothing,” she breezed, looking away and giving a half-hearted smile.  “It’s nothing.”

Snow White stared at her daughter for a moment, quirking an eyebrow.

“Nothing with you means something,” Snow said, “because if it were nothing, we wouldn’t be talking about it.”

“Then let’s not talk about it,” Emma said quickly.  “I… I’m tired.  It’s late.”

Emma quickly pulled away and braided her long hair, looking away from Snow’s concerned expression. 

“All right,” Snow said, slowly standing from her place on Emma’s bed.  “But you know that you can always talk to me, Emma, right?  No matter what.”

“Of course, Mother,” Emma said, forcing a smile and then covering the expression with a fake yawn.  “I’ll see you at breakfast?”

“Yes,” Snow said, seeming mollified.  “Good night, Emma.  I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Emma said as she climbed under her covers.  She listened as her mother let herself out of the room. 

When she was gone, Emma frowned at the ceiling.

It wasn’t fair.  Snow White had gotten everything she wanted; her prince, her castle, her family.  Emma wouldn’t deny that there had been troubles and horrors along the way, but Snow White had her happy ending.  King David was happy.  The dwarves were all happy.  The staff seemed satisfied when she spoke with them, and she didn’t get the sense that they were lying to her.  Even Regina was getting a shot at a happy ending with her True Love.

Emma threw back her covers in frustration.  She scrambled out of bed with a scowl, snatching up a robe before crossing the room to the doors to her balcony.  She jerked the doors open and stomped out onto the balcony, slapping her hands down on the railing.  She let out a frustrated breath, half sigh and half growl.

Emma inhaled deeply, hoping the cool sea breeze would help clear her mind.  The ocean had always calmed her, since she was a child.  Spellbound even then, she could watch the waves lapping at the beach for hours.  She loved the feel of the sand under her bare feet.  Emma longed to feel it now. 

She remembered the last time she’d touched beach sand, in Neverland.  She’d been bewitched by the sight of the sea after years in the jungle.  She remembered how she’d ducked down to thrust her fingers into the wet sand before…  Before Killian—no, _Hook_ —had arrived on the beach.  Then everything had changed.

Emma closed her eyes as a shiver rose through her body. 

She tried to replace the image of smirking blue eyes with smiling brown ones.  She thought back to the kiss she’d shared with Neal.  It had been pleasant, warm and inviting, but it was far from the liquid heat that coursed through her when Killian’s lips touched hers.

But marriage was about more than passion. 

Emma trusted Neal.  She’d known him her entire life.  He was practically family already.  He’d been her earliest confidant, her first friend, and her constant companion.  And she had been his.  Emma knew everything that had happened in Neal’s life because she’d been there for most of it.  She knew his strengths and weaknesses.  She knew what he dreamed about and what scared him. 

On the other hand, Emma had only been acquainted with Killian for a matter of months.  She didn’t know his secrets or fears beyond what she’d gathered through observation.  She didn’t know how he’d lost his hand, or where he was born, or if he had any family (though she strongly guessed he was an orphan, after her stay on Neverland).  There was so little she knew about his history.  And yet she trusted him, despite the brevity of their relationship.  She didn’t know his past, but she knew his character.  She knew who he was, but not who he had been. 

Emma frowned at the black waves crashing over alabaster sand.

Why couldn’t she have it all?

A small voice in the back of her head whispered, _can’t you?_

A story her mother had once told her came to mind about a fated king and a magic sword, a wizard, a band of knights, and a queen who wasn’t quite true.  Emma’s cheeks grew warm at the thought.  Was she really considering playing Guinevere to Neal’s Arthur and casting Killian as her Lancelot?  Would Killian even be interested in— _no!_   Nonono, bad, bad idea.

And yet Emma’s heartbeat had sped up and she suddenly felt lighter.

Marrying Neal was the right thing to do for the kingdom, but Emma thought that maybe being with Killian was the right thing to do for herself.

* * *

Emma didn’t see Killian for several days after she came to her startling revelation.  She learned from Thomas through Gwen that he had gone down to the village for a few days to spend some time with his crew.  Gwen also hinted that Killian was looking for something, but Emma wasn’t sure what that would be.

Neal seemed more distant, too.  He no longer followed Emma through her day, and his absence seemed almost intentional.  Emma ran into him in the hallway one morning as he was hurrying around a corner.

“Neal,” Emma said, catching her balance after their near collision.  The prince steadied Emma by her elbow before letting go of her.

“Oh, Emma,” he replied, nodding and beginning to step past her.

Emma moved to continue to be in his way, curious about his odd behavior.

“Where are you headed in such a rush?” Emma asked, wide-eyed.

“Oh, uh, I’m going down to ride,” Neal said, putting one hand to the back of his head and looking away.

Emma could _feel_ that he was lying.  Why would he lie to her?

“That sounds nice,” Emma said a little stiffly, then she met his eyes evenly.  “I think I’ll join you.”

Neal’s eyes widened briefly.

“No,” he said, drawing out the word into a long “ooh” sound.  He back-pedaled quickly, fidgeting.  “I mean, don’t you have, uh, other plans this morning?”

“No,” Emma lied smoothly, curious if she was as easy to read as he was.  “A ride seems as good a plan as anything else.”

Neal’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly as his face flushed.

“Do you feel well?” Emma asked innocently.

“I—I don’t,” Neal said almost gratefully, like he'd been looking for some excuse.  “Maybe a ride is a bad idea.  I think I’ll… go lie down instead.”

He hesitated in the hall for a minute before spinning around and quickly moving the opposite direction. 

Emma frowned after him, unsure why he was acting so strangely. 

“Maybe I’ll check on you later,” she called after him.

She was sure his spine stiffened and he stumbled a step before he disappeared from view.  She waited in the hall for a moment before continuing to her father’s study.  The door was ajar, so she poked her head in.

 “Father?” Emma said.

“Emma,” David exclaimed, his face brightening into a warm smile as he stood up to embrace her.  “Please come in, sweetheart.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile back.

“Can I speak privately with you, Father?” Emma said.  “If you’re not too busy?”

“I always have time for you, darling,” David said, still holding her loosely in his arms. He looked over Emma’s shoulder to where Carson was standing dutifully in the corner.  “Carson?  If you don’t mind?”

“Certainly, sir,” the older man said with a bow.  “I shall see that you are not disturbed.”

“Thank you, Carson,” David said, nodding to him before turning his eyes back to Emma.

He guided his daughter over to a small leather couch and sat down, indicating for her to sit beside him as he continued to hold her hands.  He looked at her expectantly, a small smile gracing his face.

“Father,” Emma started after a moment, “I think I’m in a sort of… predicament.”

David nodded.

“And I don’t know what to do,” Emma went on.

David leaned back a little, still nodding.

“I understand,” he said, and Emma knew he did.  She loved both of her parents, but sometimes it was easier to relate to her father.  “Things are… complicated for you, right now.  I’m afraid that will only get worse.”

“You mean as I get older?”  Emma asked, confused.

“No,” David said with a sigh, “sooner than that.”

He frowned for a moment and then took a breath.

“I’ve had a letter from Midas,” he said cautiously.

“What did it say?” Emma asked shakily. 

“He’s coming for a visit,” David said, “but don’t tell anyone that, yet.  I’m going to announce it at dinner.”

“Does Neal know?” Emma asked, curious if it was the reason he’d been acting strangely.

“I believe so,” David nodded.  “He had a letter, too.”

“When will King Midas arrive?” Emma asked mechanically, feeling strangely detached from the situation.

“He’ll be here before the end of the month.”

 “Oh,” Emma said.  Two weeks.

“I’ll explain the rest at dinner,” David said.

“There’s more?” Emma said, blinking.

“Yes, but I need to check on a few things before I say anything else,” David said.  “Try not to worry too much.”

Emma gave her father a weak smile.

“Everything will work out, Emma,” David said.

“How can you be so sure?” she said in a small voice.

“Because I have faith,” he said, squeezing her hand.  “There’s always hope, Emma.  So don’t give up on anything just yet.  Keep an open mind and an open heart and I know that everything will fall into place.”

He smiled at her and then drew her to him, hugging her tightly, holding the back of her head as he pressed her cheek to his shoulder.  He kissed the crown of her head.

Emma stayed there, her eyes blissfully closed, until Carson gently knocked, announcing that the master of coin had arrived for his audience with the king.

“Have faith,” David repeated, whispering the words into Emma’s hair before he released her to get up and leave the study.

“I’ll try,” she said.

* * *

That night, Emma was surprised to see that Tinkerbell and Killian were both in attendance at dinner.  Tinkerbell sat opposite Emma with Killian to her left, opposite Neal who was at Emma’s right.  Neither one of them seemed to be in a very good mood, which meant they mirrored Emma and Neal in that regard as well.  Neal was almost brooding, he was so unhappy.

Killian did catch Emma’s eyes and give her a genuine—if small—smile before he resumed frowning at the table, his forehead scrunched into tight wrinkles.  Emma had tried to smile back, but the glance had been so brief, she wasn’t sure if he’d caught it.

David drew out the uncomfortable silence until after the soup was served. 

“I received a letter, today,” he finally announced, “from King Midas.”

Killian’s head snapped up, and he looked from David to Emma.  Emma favored him with a sad smile.  Killian frowned thoughtfully in response and turned his attention back to David.

“He’ll be arriving in a fortnight,” David continued.

“Why is he visiting now?” Snow White asked with obvious curiosity. 

Emma was surprised that David hadn’t already told his wife. 

David gave each person at the table an appraising look before he spoke. 

“Midas thinks that with the engagement officially announced," he said carefully, "it is time for Neal and his future queen to visit their kingdom.”

Emma’s spoon fell out of her hand, clattering to the table and flinging droplets of soup across the tablecloth before bouncing to the floor.

“What?” Emma and Neal said at the same time.  They each shot the other a startled look before turning away self-consciously.  Emma looked at Killian across the table, but he was frowning at his soup bowl, his throat twitching as he swallowed and clenched his jaw. 

“But we've just gotten Emma back!” Snow White protested.

“Midas won’t see it that way,” David said gently, shaking his head.  “No time passed at all for most people outside this castle.”

A hush fell across the table again.  Emma didn’t even notice as one of the footmen replaced her fallen spoon.

Emma hadn’t considered that Midas would want her and Neal to live in his kingdom.  Of course, it made sense.  Midas was quite a bit older than David and Snow White.  Neal and Emma would rule his kingdom far longer than they would David’s, if they ever ruled there at all.  Emma’s parents were still young and healthy, so it was possible that Emma’s children would be old enough to rule on their own before a new monarch was needed in the kingdom.

Why had she never realized it?  Emma had stupidly assumed that she would stay forever in her father’s castle.

A dull ache began in Emma’s chest as another realization set in: There was no way to be with Killian, even in stolen moments.  When Emma was queen, her knight would live in another kingdom.

“Please excuse me, I suddenly feel ill,” Emma said, barely a whisper.  She rose to her feet, glad for the footman who pulled her chair. 

Emma dimly heard Neal and others at the table giving similar excuses and rising from the table.  She didn’t look, her eyes glazed and unseeing as she stumbled back to her chambers, letting her heavy feet find the well-known path. 

Once in her room, Emma threw herself on her bed and let the tears come.  She wailed mournfully into her pillow, hoping it muffled the tortured breaking of her heart.

* * *

An hour later, Emma’s face was splotchy red and her pillow was soaked with tears and snot.  She ignored the sound when someone tapped lightly on her chamber door. 

A few moments later, the knock repeated, a little louder and more insistent.

“Go away!” Emma called morosely. 

The door clicked open, which made Emma huff in frustration. 

“Go away,” she repeated.

“Not bloody likely,” came the muttered reply, and Emma sat up in utter shock.

She scrubbed her face with her sleeves before turning around to find Killian Jones shutting the door and strolling into her bedroom.

She gaped at him.  In addition to _being in her room_ , which was reason enough to gape, he was also dressed in just his cerulean shirttails and a pair of soft-looking dark grey trousers.  Simple shoes replaced his usual boots, and his left arm ended in his gleaming hook instead of the leather-clad hand he’d worn so far in the castle.

“What are you—” she began.

He crossed the room in three steps, pulling her up from the bed and into his arms and silencing her with a kiss.  She relaxed against him, melting into his embrace.  She couldn’t stop the very improper sound that welled up from her chest as he threaded his fingers in her hair and pulled her tight against him with his left arm.  She kissed him back eagerly, letting everything else in the world fade for a blissful moment.

When he drew back and pressed his forehead to hers in the way he always did, she gave a little sigh.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she said breathlessly.

“Summon the guards, then, love,” he murmured, rubbing his nose across hers.

“Would that deter you?” she teased.

“Not in the slightest,” he growled, kissing her again.  She laughed into his mouth and reciprocated the kiss briefly before pulling away.

“If someone finds you here—” she began.

“No one will,” he soothed.

“How can you know that?” she pressed, pulling back further.

“Have faith,” he said, echoing her father’s words.

She blinked at him for a moment, frowning.

“What’s wrong, Swan?” he said, lifting her chin to study her face.

She made a disbelieving noise at him and pulled completely out of his arms.

“What isn’t wrong, _Hook_?” she huffed.  “Everything is wrong.  My life is wrong.”

She threw herself backwards on to her bed.

“Why do I have to be the kingdom’s savior?” she whined.  “Why I can’t I just be _me_?”

She frowned at the ceiling.

“And just who are you, Swan?” Killian said quietly, moving to sit on the edge of her bed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she quipped, lifting her head to look at him.

“Aye,” he said fervently, giving her a searing look.  He held the glance for a moment before cocking his head to the side and continuing in a quiet tone.  “We haven’t had much chance to truly talk, you and I.”

“No,” Emma said, letting her head drop back on to the mattress.  “I think I’d like to, though.”

“Aye?  It just so happens I’m available tonight,” he teased.   “So if you’d like to talk for hours, just go ahead, love.”

She smiled at the ceiling.

“And when someone finds you in my chamber?” Emma asked with a slight smile, cutting her eyes sideways to look at him.

“That’s what this is for,” he said, raising his hook.  He smirked.

Emma sat up, stunned.

“Killian!” she admonished.  “How could you even _think_ —”

“Emma, you wound me,” he said, looking chastised.  “This is to climb down from your balcony, lass.  I could hardly do that with a wooden hand.”

“How can you do that with a hand and hook?” she asked, eyes still wide, but mollified.  She was a little ashamed that she’d assumed he would attack the staff.

“Oh, I am quite skilled at performing delicate tasks one-handed, love,” he purred, leaning slightly over her.

Her cheeks went pink at his tone.  She wasn’t sure what he meant, but the way he’d said it was positively sinful.

“I thought we were _talking_ ,” she said with a quiver of nervousness.

“We are,” he said, pulling back a little.

Emma sat up, smoothing her skirts. 

Looking at the slightly wrinkled fabric of her gown, her hands froze.  Eyes wide, her eyes snapped up to meet Killian’s.

“I need to take off this dress,” she exclaimed.

Killian cocked an eyebrow at her, and Emma realized what she’d said.

“I mean, I, uh… It’s…” Emma stammered, blushing.

“I understand, lass,” he soothed.  “Should I go out on the balcony while you change?”

“I can’t…  I can’t undo the buttons myself,” Emma whispered, blushing fiercely.

“Ah,” Killian said, his lips quirking briefly into a smirk before he could hide his amusement.

“And I can’t call for my maid with you here!” Emma exclaimed, mortified.

“I’ve been doing and undoing buttons one-handed for decades, love,” Killian said with a chuckle, “I humbly offer my services.”

Emma stared at him dumbly, mouth open.

“Or I can take my leave so you can summon your maidservant,” he said, slightly deflated.

“No,” Emma said quickly.  “Don’t go.”

Killian waited, watching Emma carefully as she struggled with her decision.  Finally, Emma stood up with a determined look on her face and turned around, putting her back to Killian.  She stood straight but wrung her hands—in anticipation or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure. 

She inhaled sharply when his fingers brushed across her neck, sweeping her hair to the side and flipping it over her shoulder.  Her skin broke out in goose bumps, then she felt the familiar pull-release of buttons being undone one by one. 

Emma’s heart was racing.  She briefly wondered if she was dreaming, but she knew in a dream she wouldn’t be so nervous.

When the final button came free, Emma held the loose fabric to her chest, unsure how to proceed.

“Shall I unlace your corset, as well?” Killian asked, in a low voice.  It sounded like a cross between a murmur and a growl.

He cleared his throat after he spoke.

“Yes,” she whispered, glad he couldn’t see her burning face.

She felt his hand sweep the fabric of her dress aside and slide around her waist to her hip.  Then there was a tugging on the knot that held the laces.  He must be using his hook.  The hand disappeared, and the laces began to loosen.  He used quick, efficient tugs to reposition the strings evenly, unlacing her as smoothly as Gwen ever had. 

His hot fingers and the cool metal of his hook brushed her skin each time he pulled the fabric apart to move the laces.  Emma’s hands were trembling by the time the garment was completely loose.

“There,” he said, his voice even lower and more gravelly than it had been before. 

Emma took a deep steadying breath before she spoke.

“Will you fetch me my dressing gown?” Emma murmured, looking at him over her shoulder. 

His eyes were dark and hooded, his expression intense.  They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before he blinked.

“Where is it?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“Over there,” Emma said, cocking her head and gesturing with her eyes.

Killian followed her gaze and nodded. He looked uncomfortable as he rose and quickly turned away from her.  He walked stiffly across the room and gathered up the garment, holding it in front of him as he brought it to her.  He stopped at arm’s length and held it out for her.  She shifted her grip on her gown and carefully took the garment from him. 

He immediately turned away from her.

“I’ll be on the balcony,” he said over his shoulder before striding across the room and out the double doors.  She watched him through the glass as he went to the railing and leaned on it, facing the sea.

Emma stared after him for a moment before pulling her arms out of the sleeves of the gown and sticking them into the long sleeves of her dressing gown.  She let the two garments fall as one, stepping out of the dress and feeling the floor-length robe slip smoothly around her.  She shimmied out of her corset and pulled off her stockings before tying the sash of her dressing gown with a firm knot.  She gathered up the clothing from the floor and draped it over her chaise lounge. 

Emma evaluated her situation for a moment.

She was standing in her bed chamber, wearing only a silk robe.  A pirate (a knight, a prince—he would always be her pirate) was waiting for her on the balcony.

This was madness.

She took a deep breath and went to the balcony doors.  She opened them confidently, stepping out into the cool, evening air. 

“You should come back inside before someone sees you,” Emma said, surprised at how strong her voice sounded.

Killian turned around.  His eyes roved down from her face to her feet and back up.

“Swan,” he said, his voice barely carrying across the short distance.

Emma raised her hand and offered it to him. 

He took it in his and followed her back into her room.


	15. Chapter 15

Emma woke up slowly, unsurprised to find herself alone in her bed.  She sighed, a small smile playing over her lips.  Stretching languidly, she winced at the discomfort in her abdomen.  Her hand moved down to her belly, where the knotted sash of her dressing gown was digging into her flesh.  She undid the knot with clumsy, sleep-weakened fingers.  Beneath her robe, there was a red mark indented into her skin in the shape of the knot.  She rubbed it absently, hoping it wouldn’t bruise. 

Loosely retying the sash, she fell backwards on to the bed and though about the previous night.

Killian had made good on his offer to talk for hours. 

The two of them had sat together on her bed, kissing and touching each other’s arms and face, basking in the glow of a quiet moment together.

Emma had told Killian about her childhood, and Killian had reciprocated.  Emma now knew about the tragedies he had endured in his first sixteen years:  His abandonment by his father, the loss of his brother, his turn to piracy.  It embarrassed Emma to think she’d ever complained about her own lot in life.  And yet Killian was somehow sympathetic to her lesser troubles, her paler sorrows.

He was so _good_.

Even his tales of his life as a young pirate captain, attacking navy ships and getting piss-drunk in seedy taverns did not shock Emma.  He’d been so lost and angry, how could she judge him for seeking solace where he could?  Killian had even reluctantly told Emma about the lovers he’d taken, and how he’d lost his hand in a duel with one of the women’s husbands.

He’d been too drunk to lift his sword when the cuckolded man had found him, but his foolish pride had made him accept the duel.  Killian had judged the man a coward in his inebriated state, misreading the ornate and jeweled sword the man carried to be merely ornamental.  Killian bet the man his own hand against the sword that he’d win the duel.

Less than an hour later, the jilted husband’s friends were holding down a thrashing pirate while the husband took his winnings with a heated cleaver.  If the wound hadn’t been cauterized, Killian would have bled to death in the street after he passed out from the pain. 

Killian and his crew had fled to Neverland shortly thereafter.  Mr. Smee had finally been able to acquire a magic bean, and Killian decided that he’d spend the rest of his days hunting Pan for the death of his brother.

But things had changed for him when he’d met her.

And that, at least, Emma could understand, since she felt the same way.

Well past midnight, Emma and Killian’s conversation had slowed.  They’d lounged on her bed, Emma tucked under Killian’s left arm as he stroked her face and hair with his fingers.  She had tried to stifle a yawn, but it snuck past her defenses, making her arch all the way to her toes with its intensity.  Killian’s fingers had frozen at once, and he seemed to catch his breath.

“You should sleep,” he had murmured huskily.

“Mm,” she’d mumbled non-committally, snuggling tighter to Killian’s chest.  He then rolled on to his back, pulling her with him to pillow her head on his shoulder. 

He’d gone back to stroking her face and hair, fingers feather-light across her skin.  He took a deep breath and then he’d begun humming a bittersweet melody.  Emma had sighed into his vibrating chest and relaxed, letting sleep claim her.

Now, she smiled, eyes closed.  Nothing about her situation had really changed, but she felt lighter, anyway.  Perhaps she finally found the faith her father had spoken of. 

Emma got up and rang for Gwen.  When she turned around, she found a single blood-red rose lying on her bedside table.  She grinned at the flower, scooping it up delicately to inhale its sweet perfume. 

When Gwen arrived with breakfast, she looked positively gleeful.  Looking around Emma’s room, Gwen’s eyes lingered on the discarded clothing and the flower Emma was still fingering idly.  Gwen grinned to herself, unable to contain her amusement.

Once Emma was eating breakfast, Gwen went immediately to the bed, pulling back the sheets.  She gasped, and Emma gave her a confused look.

“Gwen?”  Emma asked.

“Beggin’ your pardon, your highness,” the redhead said, bobbing into a curtsey.  “I… I thought these would need be laundered.”

Emma’s mouth fell open.

“What made you think..?” Emma began, but she stopped when she saw Gwen’s guilty expression. 

“Gwen!” she exclaimed, scandalized.

The maid bobbed again, blushing.

“Whatever it is you’ve assumed is completely wrong,” Emma whispered, her own cheeks going pink as well.

“Aye, I can see that,” Gwen muttered, beginning to re-make the bed instead of stripping it.  “I suppose you unlaced your own corset, too?”

Emma stared at the maid in shock, anger starting to rise in her chest.

Gwen caught Emma’s expression and dipped into a deeper curtsey, holding the pose, eyes downcast.

“Beggin’ your pardon, your highness,” Gwen said meekly.  “That weren’t right for me to say.”

Emma nodded.  She frowned at Gwen for a moment before turning back to her breakfast.  She was a little off-balanced by the idea that that staff knew— _assumed_ , she corrected in her head—that Killian had been in her room and that they had...  Emma felt her ears warm up, but she dismissed the thoughts and focused on eating her breakfast.

After Gwen finished making the bed and fetched Emma’s clothing for the day, she found her voice again.

“I believe you when you say nothing happened, your highness,” Gwen said softly, carefully, “but _why not_?”

 Emma’s head snapped up.  She blinked at the maid in shock.  Gwen looked honestly curios and… concerned?  Was the maid _disappointed_? 

“That’s none of your business, Gwen,” Emma said gently, choosing to protect their friendship instead of calling the girl out on her lack of propriety.

“As you say, your highness,” Gwen replied meekly. 

The maid finished her morning tasks in silence.

* * *

“And how was your evening, highness?” Thomas drawled with a smirk as he straightened Killian’s vest.  “I take it you ended the night _satisfied_?  I’ll bet the princess was—”

Killian snatched his hook up from the top of the dresser as he slammed Thomas against the wall next to the door.  Killian pressed the point of the metal appendage into Thomas’ neck, not quite drawing blood, but hard enough to be painful.  The smug expression was gone from the valet’s face, replaced with shock and a healthy dose of fear.

“I would appreciate it if you would refrain from making such comments in my presence, Thomas.  It’s very bad form,” Killian purred, his lips almost brushing the valet’s cheek.  He leaned in a little harder, hearing the other man hiss in pain as the hook dug cruelly into his flesh.

“Of c-course, sir,” Thomas stammered.  “Too right you are.  My apologies, sir.”

Killian held there for another handful of heartbeats to make sure the valet knew how serious he was.  When he finally stepped back, there was a drop of blood forming under Thomas’ jaw. 

“I think I can manage from here, Thomas,” Killian said as if nothing had happened.  He even gave the other man a small smile.  “I’ll see you before dinner.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Thomas replied quickly, eyes wide as he stared at the smear of blood on his fingers from where he’d dabbed his neck.  “Good day, sir.”

The valet quickly left the room.

Killian set the hook back down and clicked his wooden hand into place.

* * *

Emma’s newfound joy only lasted one day. 

A village near the castle had requested aid, claiming that something was slaughtering livestock in the night.  David sent Killian to investigate and take care of the problem.

Emma snuck down to the stables to see Killian off.  She waited until the stable boy left to reveal herself, running to Killian and throwing herself into his arms.

“Hello, love,” Killian chuckled, smiling at her as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Be careful,” Emma pleaded.

Killian ducked his head to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

“I will be,” he said, trying to reassure you.

“I don’t know how long you’ll be gone,” she whimpered, thinking of King Midas’ looming visit.

“Not a day will go by that I don’t think of you,” Killian said, stroking her cheek.

She couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Good,” she replied.

He reluctantly let go of her and mounted his steed.  Emma watched as he rode off into the distance.  She fought the tears that threatened her eyes.

Emma heard a scuffing sound behind her and she reluctantly turned to find Neal standing at the other end of the stable. 

“Emma,” he started, but cut himself off, frowning and looking to the side.  He swallowed hard and slowly walked toward her.

He stopped right in front of her.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.  He looked frustrated, like he wasn’t sure how to form the words he wanted to say.  “I just… I don’t…”

He made a frustrated noise.  He ran his hands through his hair and shifted his weight.

“Neal—” Emma started, but he cut her off.

“Do you love me?” Neal said gruffly. 

Emma gaped at him.

He frowned at her, clearly frustrated by her lack of response.

Emma opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came out. 

Neal put his hands on Emma’s shoulders.  He moved in deliberately, not slowly, but not too quick she couldn’t have stopped him if she hadn’t been too stunned by his question to react.  He pressed his lips to hers, his eyes closing.  The kiss was desperate, and it felt to Emma like Neal was searching for something.  After a moment, Emma kissed him back.  They explored each other, testing to see how it felt, what it exposed.

When Neal finally drew back, he looked puzzled.  Emma put a hand to her mouth, still dumbstruck.  Neal watched her for a moment before nodding, brow furrowed.

“Do you love _him_?” he asked, frowning as his eyes darted back and forth between hers.

She blushed to her ears, and Neal pursed his lips.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said gruffly. 

He let go of her and marched out of the stable, leaving her alone with her confusion.

* * *

Several days later, Emma stood in the dining hall watching her mother give orders to the housekeeper and butler as Regina, Robin, and Tinkerbell talked among themselves.

“I don’t care about the damn rules of etiquette,” Regina growled.  “I will _not_ sit next to the cursed king or either of the pining princes.   Put the thief next to me or send me back to my cell.”

“Come now, darling,” Robin soothed, “it’s hardly a _cell_.”

“No one asked for your input, archer,” Regina snapped at him, making him grin.

Emma ignored the rest of the bickering and drifted around to the other side of the elaborately dressed table.  Snow White had asked the staff to set it as they’d intended to for the formal dinner so she could check the details. 

Regina would be joining them, since Midas would surely find out she was in the palace during his stay, and her not arriving to greet him would be—as Killian would say— _bad form_.  That meant Robin would be at the table, too, and Tinkerbell.  And Midas had informed David that he was bringing his daughter, Abigail, with would balance the numbers between men and women nicely.  For some reason, Abigail's husband had been left behind.

Emma ran her fingers along the embroidered tablecloth as she slowly moved from one place setting to the next.  She idly reached her hand out to stroke the card with Killian’s name on it. 

Word had finally arrived from the village to which David had sent Killian.  The monster was slain, the people rejoiced, and the knight would be on his way back to the castle once they were done feasting him.

He would arrive the following day—the same day as King Midas.

Emma looked up when she heard her mother say her name.

“Emma, you don’t mind sitting next to King Midas, do you?” Snow asked, looking up from a seating chart that Carson was making on a piece of paper in a leather folio.

“I don’t mind,” Emma said easily, giving her mother a little smile.  That would most likely put her next to Killian, if Emma was arranging the seats correctly in her head.  Neal would be across the table from Midas, since Regina was insisting on moving Robin.  Yes, that seemed right.  Emma could certainly sit next to Midas it also meant she was next to Killian.  She hoped that Midas would let her converse with the man on her other side instead of monopolizing her time.  Surely, he’d want to speak to Neal more, or maybe her parents.

“And, Carson,” her mother was saying, “I really don’t think the gold-tone napkins are appropriate, considering who our guest on honor is, do you?”

“Ah,” Carson said, nodding, “of course, your majesty.  Which color would you prefer?”

“Let’s stay away from yellows and oranges entirely,” Snow said, frowning at the beautifully arranged sunset-colored flowers in the centerpiece.  “We’ll do… Blues and silvers instead.  How does that sound, Emma?”

“I like blue and silver,” Emma said absently, thinking of sparkling azure eyes and a gleaming hook.

“I bet you do,” Regina muttered.

Emma’s head snapped up to find Regina smirking at her.  Robin took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.

“Come, darling,” he said.  “We don’t want to miss Roland’s morning ride.”

Regina let the charming thief lead her out of the dining room.

* * *

The night of the dinner had come. 

Emma hadn’t seen either Midas or Killian arrive that afternoon.  They’d both been whisked straight to their rooms to bathe and change for the feast.   Emma sat at her vanity in her room, fidgeting as Gwen stood aside and let Anna coif the princess. 

Snow White’s blonde maid was quite skilled are hairdressing, so Gwen had recruited her to help make sure the princess looked her best for the visiting dignitary.

Emma was wearing the intricately embroidered green gown she’d worn to the last ball.  She still thought it made her look like a beanstalk, but she’d received many compliments on it, especially the way it brought out the color of her eyes. 

Anna had most of Emma’s pulled up into a crown of curls studded with carefully fastened emeralds and sapphires.  The gems were scattered, seemingly at random, like crystallized raindrops throughout her hair.

“Gwen,” Anna said when Emma’s coif was nearly done.  “Could you fetch a new bottle of scent?  This one here is nearly dry.”

Gwen blinked at the older maid before nodding and leaving the room. 

Emma had a guess as to why Anna had asked Gwen to leave.

She was right.

 “If I may be so bold, your highness, I have something I’d like to say,” Anna said as she twisted strands of Emma’s hair into an intricate pattern.

Emma sighed.  Gwen she could yell at, but Anna…  How could anyone ever be angry with Anna?

“Go ahead now,” Emma said, wondering what the blonde woman had to say.

“Here’s the way I see it,” Anna said.  “Not one but two princes kneel before you; princes, princes who adore you.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“One has diamonds in his pockets,” Anna continued.  “He could buy you… well, anything.”

Emma frowned but didn’t interrupt.

“If you marry him, your parents will condone you,” she said.  She paused for a moment, meeting Emma's eyes in the mirror.  “But don’t think for a minute that they wouldn’t do the same if you chose to marry for love.”

“Anna,” Emma said with a heavy sigh, “it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Anna said, pinning the last curl into place.

The words hung in the air for a moment as Emma chewed on her lip and scowled.

“A smile would do to improve the look, I’d bet,” Anna said.

Emma cocked an eyebrow at the cheery blonde in the mirror.  Anna smiled, as if to show the princess how it was done.

* * *

Dinner was a disaster.

Regina was clearly unhappy with the menu and kept making snide remarks at Abigail, whom she apparently thought was spending too much time looking at Robin.  Midas asked Emma intensely inappropriate questions about when she’d ‘attained womanhood.’  He also commented more than once on how she was too thin and didn’t look particularly fertile.  Killian was bristling on Emma’s other side, and she was beginning to think he would add to the scene.  Snow White desperately tried to keep everyone in line, but it was becoming obvious that the mixture of people at the table was a noxious one.

Emma tried to keep her eyes on her plate, hoping that ignoring Midas would make him stop, but things just kept getting worse.

Finally, everything came to a head during the meat course.

“I have something to say,” Neal said abruptly, standing.  

Conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at the prince.  He surveyed the diners and took a deep breath before speaking.

“Emma is a beautiful, smart, amazing woman whom I love very much and of whom I could not be more proud.  What I have with her is unique,” Neal said.  He gave her a little smile and licked his lips.  “But it’s not what I want.  And as much as I want to pretend I’m okay with that, I’m not.  I know she’ll make a wonderful queen, and I know she will make an amazing mother, but it can never happen, at least not with me.” 

All eyes were fixed on Neal, and Neal’s eyes were fixed on Emma, who was trying to keep her jaw from falling open.

“Emma, when I heard you might be back, that you might still be alive, I knew I should be happy, but I wasn’t.  I was terrified,” he said.  “From the instant you stepped back in my life, I knew.  I knew I’d never stop loving you.  But you were gone for so long, and all that pain that I went through during those years, it all just came rushing back.  I didn’t know if I could go through it again.  I love you.  I probably always will.  But my secret is that I was hoping it was a trick.  I was hoping you were dead because it would be easier for me to put you behind me and move on with my life.”  

Neal gave her a sad smile and Emma felt tears trickle down her cheeks.

“And now I have,” Neal continued.  “I’ve moved on, and I’ve found someone else.”

Neal turned to Tinkerbell and took her hand in his.  She had tears in her eyes, too, as she looked at him.  Neal stroked her cheek tenderly before turning to his father.

“So has Emma,” Neal said.  “We each have a chance to be happy, Papa, and we need to take it.  So, I’m breaking the engagement.”

Silence fell over the room and stretched out for a pregnant minute.  Finally, Midas broke the calm.

 “This is preposterous!” he shouted, standing up.  “This union has been planned since your infancy!”

Abigail snorted.

“Really, Father,” she said in exasperation, “one would think you’d have learned this lesson already.”

Midas scowled at his daughter, who held his gaze levelly.  He eventuall looked away, his eyes sweeping across each person at the table as his expression darkened further.  

“I will not give them any gold,” Midas said almost petulantly to Neal, fixing him with an angry look.

Emma’s stomach dropped.  Her kingdom would starve without money from Midas.  She looked at her parents.  Snow had gone as pale as her name, but David’s eyes were steady and fixed on Neal.  Emma turned to find her earliest friend frowning at his father.  His expression was one of betrayal.

“Is my life worth nothing to you, Papa?” Neal said in a small voice.

“What?” Midas said, shocked.

“My life,” Neal repeated, louder, his voice gaining a degree of anger.  “What is it worth to you?”

“Everything,” Midas said, deflated, “anything.”

“King David and Queen Snow have raised me,” Neal said with quiet intensity.  “They took me in _at your request_ to keep me safe.”

“In exchange for your engagement to their daughter,” Midas huffed, crossing his arms.

“Yes, but _I_ am breaking that engagement,” Neal said. “Should David and Snow receive nothing for fifteen years spend raising and educating me?  What are those years worth to you, Papa?”

Midas opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“You could solve this kingdom’s woes by running your fingers along the items in this room,” Neal said.  “Are you really unwilling to lift a finger to save a nation?”

“This is absurd,” Midas whispered.  “This is extortion.”

“Papa, I love you,” Neal said, “but these people are my family, too, and you _are_ going to save David, because it’s the right thing to do.  No deals.  No favors.  Understand?”

Midas stared at his son as if he’d grown a second head.  His mouth flapped a few more times before his face cleared into an awed sort of proud expression.

“Fine,” Midas said.  “I’ll do as you ask.”

Neal visibly relaxed, nodding to his father and offering him his hand.  Midas checked to make sure his glove was in place before taking his son’s hand in his.  Neal stepped forward, wrapping his arm around his father, making the older man huff in surprise and concern, but Neal was careful not to touch his father’s skin.

“Bravo, lad,” Killian said quietly. 

Emma chuffed and gave him an amused look.  Killian reached out and brushed the tears from her cheek. 

“Tinkerbell,” Neal said sweetly, drawing Emma’s eyes back to her former fiancé.  He was kneeling next to her chair, her hand clasped in his.  “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she exclaimed, bouncing a little in her seat. 

Emma smiled at the newly engaged couple for a moment before turning her eyes to Killian.  She almost thought he’d propose, too, but she realized he was too much of a gentleman to steal another couple’s moment.  He winked at her took her left hand in his.  He swirled his fingers around the place where a wedding ring would eventually go.

* * *

The rest of King Midas’ visit went surprisingly well.  He spent time each morning touching anything Neal told him to, effectively and efficiently refilling the kingdom’s coffers.  At dinner, the seating arrangements were redone (much to Carson’s dismay) to isolate Midas with his family instead of separating them to facilitate conversation.  That put Emma at the opposite end of the table from the cursed king, sitting between her father and Killian, which made her very happy.  Regina ended up across from Emma, also placed as far from Midas as possible, and Emma found she preferred the former evil queen’s company to that of Neal’s father. 

There was one tense discussion where Regina, Snow, and Midas were trying to decide where Neal and Tink’s wedding should be held.  Words became heated, and at one point Regina rose from her seat, her right hand coming up as if holding a weapon, her face turning to a fearsome scowl.  Emma saw the dark-haired woman begin to summon her magic.  Emma nearly choked. 

Regina's magic wasn’t bound. 

Dimly Emma realized she hadn’t seen the bands of containment on her step-grandmother in weeks.  Aghast, Emma quickly tried to craft a counter to whatever spell Regina was about to cast at Midas, but the effort wasn’t needed.  Robin simply laid a hand on Regina’s arm and murmured something softly to her.  Regina sat down immediately, blushing.

In the end, Regina won out over the other monarchs.  She was the closest thing to family that Tinkerbell had, so Snow and Midas relented in letting her host the wedding.

And thus, several months blissfully flew by. 

Regina and her roguish consort returned to her kingdom to restore order and prepare for the wedding, taking young Roland and the Merry Men with them.  Midas whisked Neal and Tinkerbell off to his kingdom to familiarize them with the palace.  David sent Killian on several daring and heroic quests.  Each time Killian left, he and Emma parted with the same words they had said to each other upon his departure before Midas’ arrival.  Each time Killian returned, Emma fell blissfully into his arms.

Winter came and went, and before Emma could believe it, a year had passed.

The streets were once again decorated with purple and white, the ballroom was lavishly appointed, and Emma had an ornate gown laid out on her chaise lounge.  Emma was seventeen, and there would be a ball in her honor that evening.

Emma stood on her balcony, her robe wrapped tight around her to protect against the early morning chill.  The sun rose behind her, setting fire to the crests of the waves below.  In the distance, Emma could see the little port village, and docked in the harbor was a familiar vessel that hadn’t been there the day before.

Emma smiled at the pirate ship, hopeful for the future.

 


	16. Coda - Emma's Very Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand, a very fluffy little coda. There may eventually be a couple more codas.

Emma couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she nibbled her breakfast.  Gwen chatted animatedly as she scurried around the princess, coifing her hair and getting her gown and accessories ready.  The red-haired maid had brought the princess biscuits and cinnamoned cocoa for breakfast again, as she had on Emma’s last birthday.  It was strange to think that she was only officially seventeen, when she’d lived at least five extra years in Neverland.  But seventeen or twenty-two, Emma felt more confident and happy than she had on the morning of her previous birthday.

Her gown was white with silver embroidery along the bodice and feathers at her shoulders.  It surprised Emma.  The gown she’d been given on her birthday the year before had been made of heavy gold brocade.  But this dress was soft and light, unrestrictive where the previous one had been binding.  The wide skirts were made of layer upon layer of fluttering gauze.

Gwen tied Emma’s hair back in a simple coif of loose curls adorned with a gem-studded band instead of her tiara. 

When Emma looked in the mirror, she felt free.  She looked healthy and happy, neither the spoiled princess nor the starving Lost Girl.  Her posture bespoke confidence and grace, but not conceit.  The tilt of her chin showed defiance, but not stubbornness. 

“You look lovely, your royal highness,” Gwen whispered, smiling at the princess.

“Thank you, Gwen,” Emma replied, smiling. 

* * *

 

Downstairs, Emma embraced each of her parents, who were beaming with joy.

The queen had recently found out she was pregnant, but refused to announce the news until after Emma’s birthday. 

“Emma, my darling,” Snow said, touching Emma’s cheek.  “Happy birthday.”

Mother and daughter hugged lightly, then Snow stepped back and David took her place.

David embraced the princess and then ducked to lift her off her feet.  He spun her as he kissed her forehead.

Emma laughed and threw her arms around her father’s neck.

“You’re all grown up,” David said with a wistful smile.

“I’ll still step on your feet when you dance with me if it will make you feel better, Father,” she teased as he set her down.

David laughed, his eyes sparkling. 

“Has Killian arrived?” Emma asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

David laughed again.

“We won’t see him until this evening,” he said gently. 

Emma nodded, disappointed but not surprised.

She was surprised, however, when Neal, Tinkerbell, Regina, Robin, and Roland arrived shortly before lunch.

The formerly evil queen seemed like a different person.  Her smiles were genuine and affectionate.  She even curtseyed (shallowly) to David and Snow when they met in the foyer. 

Regina had been hosting Neal and Tinkerbell as they finished planning the wedding that was scheduled to occur in a few short months. 

Tinkerbell and Neal each embraced Emma and wished her a happy birthday before they all sat down to lunch. 

Emma’s former fiancé and her fairy confidante seemed blissfully happy together, which pleased Emma.  She was glad to see the people she cared for experiencing joy.

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur spent with Snow while David had various meetings. And before she knew it, Emma was seated on the royal dais in the ballroom, eyes roving the hall for a certain black-clad man.

Emma frowned as her third pass yielded nothing. 

He hadn’t presented himself during the grand procession, and David was about to announce the first dance.

Where was he? 

David stood up, reaching for Emma as he made his pronouncements, but Emma wasn’t really listening. 

“Emma?” he said, drawing her attention.

“Hmm?” she replied, finally looking directly at her father.

“Shall we dance?” he said, his lips quirking up briefly.

Emma rose, letting her father lead her down to the floor and pull her into a proper waltz.  He noticed immediately that she was preoccupied.

“I thought you were joking about stepping on my toes, Emma,” he said with a smile.

“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbled, feeling her cheeks go pink.

“You’re distracted,” he said gently.  His expression was knowing.

“Maybe I am,” she teased back, trying to keep the mood light.

“He came to see me this afternoon,” David said, and Emma did step on him them.  “Ooph!”

“Sorry!” Emma said.  “What—what did he come to see you about?”

“Oh, just a matter of contract,” David said too nonchalantly.  “He was looking to forge an alliance.”

“Mmm?” Emma said, not really listening, searching the crowd again over her father’s shoulder.

Her breath caught suddenly when she saw him, standing directly behind her father. 

He wasn’t wearing his black leathers.

Emma’s heart pounded in her chest at the sight of him in his new coat.  It was brown, embroidered in a simple yet elegant pattern.  The cuffs and collar were black as pitch, as was his waistcoat.  The shirt beneath was white as snow.  His breeches were dark, but not as inky as his collar, tucked into new, black boots.

The coat was well-tailored, fitting tight across Killian’s shoulders and snug to his arms and torso.  It was a peacetime coat, she realized, and would be too restrictive in a sword fight.  The left sleeve in particular seemed almost too snug, clinging tightly to the brace that held his leather hand in place.

He tapped the king’s shoulder.

David stopped their movement at once, turning to smile at Killian.

“May I cut in?” Killian said, his eyes only staying on David for a fraction of a second before meeting Emma’s.

He bowed elaborately to the pair of them.

“Of course,” David said as he and Emma returned the polite greeting, David bowing as Emma dipped into a curtsey.

When she was upright, David gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before passing her hands to Killian.

“Your royal highness,” Killian said, bowing elaborately again and kissing Emma’s hand. 

Emma curtseyed again.

“Sir Killian,” she said, unable to fight her smile.

“Happy birthday,” he said, his eyes intent on hers, full of joy and warmth and just a hint of danger.

“Thank you,” she said, letting him pull her into his arms as the music transformed into a slightly more upbeat waltz. 

He led her into the steps, as smooth as silk, and she followed the elaborate footwork eagerly.

“You look lovely,” he murmured as he pulled her back from a spin, crushing her tight against him for a moment and letting his lips brush her cheek before he opened their position again.

“So do you,” she replied with a grin when they were face to face again.

He grinned widely and spun her again, letting her loose to twirl on her own before he recaptured her and led her in an intricate path across the floor.

“I must ask, though,” he said, his expression mischievous.  Instead of finishing his sentence at once, he spun her yet again, releasing her completely to let her pirouette without restriction.  She did a double turn, slightly confused when she didn’t feel his hand on the center of her back to let her know it was time to resume the closed position. 

She turned her head to catch his eye and found him kneeling in the middle of the floor, his eyes dancing and a small smirk on his face.

Emma blinked down at him in confusion, wondering if he’d somehow turned his ankle or something.  She went to him, and he took her hand in his.

“Killian—” she started, but she stopped when she saw the ring.

The ring his father had given his mother.

A matter of contract indeed.

“Princess Emma,” Killian said, his voice ringing out across the suddenly silent ballroom, “would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” Emma whispered, then louder, “yes!”

Killian slid the ring onto her finger and rose smoothly from the marble.  Emma threw her arms around his neck.  He kissed her chastely and then swung her in a circle.

Dimly, Emma could hear the cheering and applause, but her entire focus was on the blue-eyed man who held her heart.

* * *

Not long after the proposal, Killian managed to secret away the guest of honor.  Emma had no idea how he’d managed it, but she was glad to find herself alone on a balcony with her new fiancé. 

Killian gathered Emma into his arms and kissed her sweetly, languidly.  It was a kiss that spoke of many more kisses to come. 

“Are you happy, Swan?” he said, the words sounding serious, but his face amused.

“Mmm,” she replied, surging up to her tiptoes to kiss him again.

He kissed her back, keeping the pace slow and unhurried.  She sighed into his mouth as he trailed his fingers up and down her spine.

She threaded her fingers in his hair, gazing up into him bottomlessly blue eyes.

“Exquisitely happy,” she said, grinning at him and claiming his lips again.

He pulled her even tighter to him and she sighed.

“Me, too,” he murmured into her ear.

“There you are,” came the unwelcome voice of Emma’s step-grandmother. 

The couple turned to find her stepping on to the balcony, closing the door behind her.

Emma pulled back from Killian self-consciously, but he kept his arms around her loosely. 

“Your majesty,” Killian said with a dip of his head.

Regina nodded at the address without taking her eyes off Emma.  The queen frowned for a moment before stepping closer.

“I’ve come to apologize,” she said as if the words were unpleasantly flavored, “and to offer my congratulations.”

Killian reluctantly let Emma go as the two women curtseyed.

“I have a present for you,” Regina said.

Emma’s eyes widened.

“And it’s nothing like the last one, I assure you,” Regina went on with a small, self-deprecating smile.

“I... I’m honored, Grandmother,” Emma said stiffly.

 “Oh, ugh, don’t ever call me that,” Regina said, grimacing.  “I’d rather you call me Regina.”

“As you say… Regina,” Emma said, dipping her head again.

Regina gestured with one hand and Emma felt the magic in the air as Killian gasped behind her.  She looked at him, but he was staring at Regina with wide eyes, holding himself stiffly. 

Emma turned back to face the queen.

“What—” Emma began.

“I assumed that you might wish to have a double ring ceremony,” Regina said conversationally, “which would be difficult considering your pirate’s condition.”

Emma’s head whipped in Killian’s direction again, and she saw that he was holding his left wrist in his right hand.  His wooden appendage was gone, the ruffled cuff of his shirt fluttering over the empty space at the end of his arm.

“You’ll have to assist me,” Regina said, drawing Emma’s attention back to her.  “It’s a tricky bit of magic, and my talents do not lie in the art of healing.”

Emma’s mouth fell open in sudden understanding. 

Her eyes flitted back and forth between Regina’s cool expression and Killian’s look of surprise.

“Do you want this?” Emma asked, meeting Killian’s gaze.

He nodded, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“Aye,” he breathed, blinking.  “I do.”

Emma nodded and gave him a tiny smile before turning back to Regina.

“What do I need to do?” Emma asked.

“You focus on the goal,” Regina said.  “Magic comes from emotion, from desire.  If you supply the raw power, I can shape the spell.”

Emma nodded.

“Look at him,” Regina said.  “Concentrate on the desired outcome, and embrace your magic but don’t direct it.”

Emma held Killian’s eyes, feeling tears welling in her own. 

His eyes were wide and intent, full of a wide range of flickering emotions. 

Emma let her eyes flutter closed for just a moment as she found the power within herself.  She felt it blossom warmly through her like a flower opening to the sun.

When she opened her eyes, Emma saw her own magic radiating out from her as a golden glow that bathed Killian in warm light.   She smiled at him and he returned the expression.

Regina stepped around then, tugging Killian’s maimed arm up into the light.  She flipped back the ruffled sleeve, but Emma’s eyes didn’t waver.

Emma felt a tug at her power as Regina embraced her own magic and started to weave the spell, channeling it toward Killian’s arm. 

Emma thought she might have to sleep for a month after this, but she didn’t care.  Her smile widened as she felt the intricate threads of magic being woven into a healing charm. 

Regina gently pressed the magic to Killian’s ancient wound, and Emma felt the flow of life touched him. 

It made Killian gasp, his eyes crinkling as if he was feeling something intense.  Pain?  Pleasure?  Heat?  Cold?  Emma didn’t know what the spell would feel like to him, but he was clearly affected. 

The light of Emma and Regina’s combined magic intensified, almost whiting out everything on the balcony.  Wind picked up around them, swirling into a vortex around the spell.  Emma could just see Killian’s eyes and his wildly flapping hair.  Anything below of between them was lost in the brightness of the incantation.  Emma felt her own hair being tugged by the swirling air.

She held Killian’s gaze, watching his face contort in ways that made heat shoot to the pit of her stomach.  Something about the way his mouth moved silently as his eyes tightened and his jaw clenched made her blush.  She channeled that heat into the spell, too.

The wind grew stronger, and soon the hair of all three of them stood straight up, their clothing buffeted and their vision disturbed by the intense gale and the bright white light of the spell.

Emma heard Killian cry out wordlessly, and then Regina gave a huff of breath, closing herself off from her magic.  Emma sagged, too, feeling the power drain from her and tiredness settle in her bones.

All three of them slumped to the tiles of the balcony, breathing hard.

Emma heard a commotion from the other side of the balcony doors, but it sounded like Robin was barring the way.

The princess crawled toward Killian, who was staring at his restored left hand with a dumbstruck expression.  He had tears in the corners of his eyes.  Emma didn’t know if they were from joy or pain.

He looked up at her, his face full of awe.  He reached for her, tentatively, like he thought she might recoil, but she leaned into in, letting him lay his new fingers along her cheek.

He let out a choked noise and then drew her to him, pulling her half into his lap so he could kiss her as he stroked her cheeks and neck with both hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips.  Then he pulled back to look across at Regina.

“Thank you, your majesty,” he said fervently, dipping his head into as much of a bow as he could make while sitting on the floor with a girl pressed against him.

“Don’t mention it,” Regina breathed, trying for confident, but sounding exhausted.

They had just a few more heartbeats of privacy before Emma heard her father’s voice on the other side of the partition, hard and demanding. 

Killian stood, pulling Emma up with him, then he offered his right hand to Regina.

“I’m fine,” she said a little gruffly, rising unsteadily to her feet under her own merit.

Regina tapped on the balcony door and it immediately opened, revealing Robin, Tinkerbell, and Neal.  David and Snow stood just beyond them, ringed by a hundred curious onlookers.

Robin immediately took Regina’s arm, though she made a half-hearted attempt to shake him off. 

David stepped forward, his eyes roving over them, taking in their windswept appearance before finally landing on Killian’s left hand, which he was still flexing and turning—a habit Emma imagined he would keep up for some time.

“Oh,” David said, eyes widening.  He looked back and forth between the three of them.  “Oh!”

“I asked for your daughter’s hand,” Killian said, his voice shaky at first, but filling with his usual cocky tone, “but it seems the queen wanted to give me one as well.”

He held up his left hand, and Emma heard her mother gasp. 

A collective murmur when through the crowd. 

“Regina,” Snow said, her voice taking on a note of awe.

“Is rather tired,” Robin said gently but firmly.  “I think we’ll be taking our leave for the evening.”

He turned to face Emma, giving her a little nod.

“Happy birthday, your royal highness,” he said.

Emma dipped as best she could on shaking feet, leaning on Killian.

She was exhausted, too, but also euphoric.

Emma’s parents parted to allow Regina and Robin through.  Neal and Tinkerbell backed away, giving Emma and Killian some room. 

David tugged on his wife’s elbow, turning her and leading her away.  He gestured for the band to begin again, and pulled Snow into his arms for a waltz. 

The crowd slowly started to disperse, some dancing, others wandering away.  Some continued to gawk, but most had enough manners to do so unobtrusively. 

Emma looked up into Killian’s blue eyes. 

He seemed to be filled with excited energy. 

“How do you feel?” he asked her, speaking softly into her ear, raising goose bumps across her neck.

She shivered.

“I’m fine,” she said.  “Happy.”

He nodded, searching her face.

“Tired?” he asked, giving her a small smile, touching her cheek with his fresh, smooth fingers again.  They made a stark contrast to his right hand’s callused skin.

He was being a little more affectionate than was strictly proper, but she thought most people could forgive it, considering the situation.

“A little,” she admitted, “but I’m so glad, grateful.  Excited.”

“Would you care to dance?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes,” she said with a little laugh. 

She took both of his hands in her own and let him lead her further into the ballroom. 

Once they were past the edge of the crowd, Killian pulled her to him and took her right hand firmly into his left, threading their fingers together. 

It wasn’t the proper grip for a waltz, but Emma didn’t think he intended to let her go during the dance.

And she was right. 

He held her close, squeezing her hand occasionally and twirling joyfully across the room.  He never released her for a spin or a promenade, but held her tight against his chest.  He grinned broadly throughout the dance, a joyous chuckle occasionally bubbling up from his chest. 

Emma joined him in his laughter, giddy and dizzy from his manic footwork.

When the music finally came to a close, he stroked her cheek and kissed her again in front of her parents and all the assembled witnesses, and Emma couldn’t bring herself to care.


End file.
